


Fire Emblem IF: Fates Rewoven

by DizzIzzi



Series: Fire Emblem IF: Fates Rewoven [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Expressionist Imagery, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Gay Male Character, Heirs of Fate DLC, Implied/Referenced Sex, Lesbian Character, M/M, More of a fan rework but whatever, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Lesbian Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queer Themes, Rating May Change, Realistic Combat, Seriously this can get trippy ya'll, Trauma, When I say 'Gay Male Character" and "Lesbian Character" I mean a whole truck load of them each, no actual smut here, time travel?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2019-09-23 08:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 51,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17077067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzIzzi/pseuds/DizzIzzi
Summary: "Two Nation-States have been in conflict with each other for centuries, but is that all that is going on?Caught in the middle of two conflicting families, Corrin must navigate life outside her tower all while trying not to lose anyone...She knows who she is, right?"A Queer, Fantasy Epic inspired by and based off the video game Fire Emblem: FatesProbably not for consumption by children under the age of thirteen (Then again, I'm an "adult" so what do I know?)





	1. The Ties That Bind

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any of the characters, setting or copywritten intellectual properties in this work of fanfiction. The characters, setting and much of the plot are trademarked by Intelligent Systems and Nintendo and this work is for entertainment purposes only.  
> Thank you so much for creating a wonderful world for me to explore and fall in love with. Can't wait to fall in love with more of them!
> 
> This work came about after sitting down playing the Revelations route of Fire Emblem Fates for the hundredth time and thinking "These games have so much potential for me but why do I feel like each is a bit of a let down? Also why are the homosexual characters mechanically bisexual? Why isn't Soleil, a textual lesbian, mechanically one too? WHY CAN'T WE ALL JUST BE QUEER AND BEAUTIFUL?!?!" After doing some digging and finding out a bit more about why the game is the way it is and listening to some of the complaints/feedback given by other fans I decided "I need to produce something, anything that makes the things I don't like be different. I want to produce something that will make this game SHINE the way I see it shining!"  
> After sitting down and reading some other fanfics, particularly "The Ocean's Grey Waves" by unnassumingvenusaur, I salivated over wanting to have more of this in my life. Since I am working on becoming a published writer of fiction I thought to myself "Why not start here?"  
> The rest will become history.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She's been having these strange dreams, visions of some climactic battle. Nothing is as it seems for Corrin and soon she'll become painfully aware of this fact once she leaves her relatively insular existence in the frosty Northern Fortress.
> 
> Beginnings are always the most jarring of places to start an adventure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will mostly follow the Revelations route of FE: Fates. For those of us who don't know what that means short version is: "Everyone, and I mean everyone, kissed and made up to go fight the REAL bad guy under the sea/beyond the stars." While the work will follow the plot points of Revelations there will be major differences in the detail, characterization, execution and in a few cases even the order of said points. Many of these changes will be addressed in greater detail in the relevant chapter's notes mostly to keep each at a decent length. As for things such as conversations (hereby referred to as "supports" for those of us not versed in the game's lingo) they will be textually included when relevant to Corrin's perspective since the POV rarely changes from her. Romance supports, especially those not included in the game itself, will either get shown/mentioned in the main text or have a short side-story all of their own.
> 
> Also yes, the Avatar is the default female Corrin—at least at the beginning, she'll evolve like everyone else does. I wanted her to be easily visualized before she gets all customized and junk, not to mention the events of this story don't take place over a weekend or something—people change as the years roll on...

  Again.  The same dream over and over.  It had been a recurring one for who knew how long but within the last month or so it came more and more, now it was every time she slept.  It had even gotten worse, flashes that felt like memory but ones she knew she never had nor ever could have had. These impossible wisps flit in her mind like the wind flying past as you’re falling, diving down a long distance towards the inevitable dream.  She’s in a field.

  Plains of verdant green flecked with subtle tints of rich soil.  There is a battle going on—like in those books her brother Leo lent her after she begged him at the tender age of nine—the clash of weapons, the crush of bodies pressed together in frantic attempts to survive seem muted somehow, distant but still present to set the scene.  Her reverie is always broken by the gruff feminine voice off to her side.

     “Come on Corrin!  We’ve got work to do.”

 

  The brute wielding the axe always gets the first hit in.  Corrin had tried to dodge, to be quicker or even simply hide behind the red headed knight sitting proud atop her mighty winged steed but nothing worked, she could never move.  It hurts, like every combat practice ever inflicted upon her but she’s used to all this and more by now. The axe was unable to pierce her rather unique, scaled armor and in fact bounced off so nicely that it sent the man reeling backwards, out of the reach of her blade.

      “Corrin, what’s the matter with you?  You seem distracted… If you’re worried, don’t be.  All your siblings are here with you. The Norhians don’t stand a chance!”

 

  Her voice is kind with an oddly familiar quality that she can never quite place upon waking.  Like a book her dream zooms and focuses in on actions she would never be able to hear over the din of battle but now was crystal clear.  Her eldest brother, stern and tough and proud in his boiled red plate with his sacred katana held high to guard himself from his constant opponent.  The adversary strides atop a brown mare—how does she know it’s a mare? She doesn’t know this person, does she?—clad in black fitted plate with purple and gold accents to bring the subtle color of the Nohrian coat of arms to life.  He too wields a blade of immense power and Corrin always felt it was an odd name for a blade every time he mentioned it, not that she would say that to his face.

  It would hurt every time.  Recollections of “what ifs” and “could have beens” would surely break a less flexible mind than Corrin’s, even if she always felt like hers was on that breaking point every time she tried to spot the contradictions.  The two were shouting at each other with their sonorous, regal tenors.

     “I demand to know what you Nohrian dogs are doing invading Hoshido!  Was that cowardly attack on my people your doing as well Princeling?” Bellowed the Crown Prince of Hoshido.  
         A somber pause before the Crown Prince of Nohr spoke. “I have nothing to say to you…  Surrender now. If you refuse… you die here.”

 

  The scene shifts back to her own self, seen as if by a flying bird or a chessmaster wielding her like a piece on his divine game board.  Out of all of this dream _this_ was the most physically discomforting to her—even with the death and blood soaking into the soil this odd disconnection is what makes her stomach churn and flip and her blood run cold—like she was about to die.  Behind her would appear another assassin within moments, the same veiled face every time with their vivid golden eyes.

  She was ready when the assassin got there.  A quick stab and a little flourish with her blade and she wouldn’t need anyone else’s help taking this Nohrian scum down.  The assailant hit the ground with the gurgle and thud Corrin had come to expect after so many iterations of her death. Her head moved before it could be turned by whatever force controlled this dreamscape towards the red headed knight.

     “No time for talk! Let’s go _w_ _ake up_ doing.”

 

  Corrin’s eyes narrowed, nothing like that had ever happened before.  But whatever oddity had invaded the pre-scripted sequence of her dream the actors didn’t notice.  As always the perspective zoomed towards the two burly Crown Princes locked in what amounted to a staring contest with sharp, magical sticks.   _“Wake Up.”_ There it was again and it sounded incredibly familiar to Corrin. The unusual occurrences continued tonight as the two princes monologued.  Unlike before she couldn’t hear their words, only watch the moving of their lips and the gesturing of their bodies as they both proclaimed themselves Corrin’s sibling for the umpteenth time.

“Wake UP.”

 

  Freezing cold!  Ice seeped into Corrin’s spinal cord and etched its dire warnings of frostbite into her every nerve ending forcing the middlemost surviving princess of the Kingdom of Nohr to jolt wide awake.

          “AAAAAAAH!”  She screams, much to the amusement of her torturer.

     “Up Lady Corrin.  Really now and I thought you better than this.”

 

  With chilling clarity came reality and names lined up with faces as the dream melted away into the back of her subconscious.  Flora—the demon she is—was fond of waking her liege with her unique frost-based gifts should Corrin not rise when told to. Recently she had taken to teasing the Castellan, Jakob, with this and had earned his eternal ire—truly the scariest thing Corrin could imagine happening to anybody.  Unlike their normal routine Corrin realized that it was pitch black outside. She was also still in yesterday’s clothes and not in her bed—which served double duty as personal lounge and preferred sleeping spot. She yawns, as was her royal prerogative, stretching aching limbs and crooked back from their unpleasant angles in her desk chair.

     “Wha?  Why? I was having this dream-”

 

  Flora shushes her liege with a practiced wave of her hand, indisputable dismissal of any form of argument Lady Corrin could muster even at the best of times.  

      “You have training with Lord Xander.  You specifically gave this as a time you were free and available while he is visiting you.”  

 

  Corrin knew her maid’s sass was laced deep into the comment so that no regular person could unearth it.  She, however, had spent the better part of half a decade getting to know her twin maids—their ins and out and little tells they pretended that she didn’t know about.  Ignoring it was the wiser course to trying to needle her ice cold maid—Flora was always the more subtle of the two, not that the bar was set terribly high or anything knowing her sister Felicia.

  Now she stands atop her tower, the only home she could feasibly remember, staring down her eldest brother.  Crown Prince Xander of Nohr was a man of few words although not short of caring or advice—he just tended to knot his eyebrows at people too much.  Like now for instance, it was a brisk winter pre-dawn and all her brother was doing was standing erect with his sword shoved through her tower’s roof like it was summer grass, his face a picture of regal seriousness.  Green grass… She too knots her brows in contemplation.

    “At it again?”

  Leo—the surly member of her merry siblings—nudges Corrin’s back with as much affection as he could broodingly muster.  This break of reverie sent Corrin into an automatic routine, stance wide and base strong with her blade raised to cover the maximum spaces without tiring her arms out.  Sadly this was Xander’s cue that she was ready for a trouncing and without hesitation kicked his sword into flight. The strongest man in Nohr flung himself at his middle sister as Leo dove for cover at the rim of the roof.  Corrin knew most of her brother’s tricks and dodged the blast of necrotic energy that heralded Xander’s usual opening gambit. She knew there would be another such strike immediately following a failed opening but still she had not figured out a way to consistently land a hit on him this early without suffering painful injury at his surprisingly nimble hands.

  As if he were clockwork Xander pirouettes on his fleet feet only to leap into the air for another debilitating ground pound, one which she again rolls safely under and out of the way.  Too late—she hadn’t figured this second strike to be a fake-out—Xander had been waiting to bait her with just such a technique. As soon as his blade impacts upon stone he crouches down and springs up, propelling himself into a backflip right in Corrin’s direction.  She expected him to have to land behind her to attack and readjusts to counter but just as her brother reaches the zenith of his arc his sword seems to change positions as the sturdy block of wood that is her eldest brother contorts his waist and torso in fascinating ways.  

  So surprised and taken aback by this display of acrobatics the arced lance of deadly energy registers only upon impact with her shoulder, piercing through it without a mark except the cold numbness of the grave.  Now, facing his sister, Xander brought his hefty blade swinging down right for Corrin’s head—something more likely to kill her than teach her a valuable lesson about combat theory. It took all her years of training under him and her wizened mentor Gunter to force her sword arm to move as quick as it did.  Raising the sword to deflect the falling blade Corrin tilts hers so as to let Xander’s precious Siegfried slide across it rather than through it. Her instinct pays off, his blade misses its mark but still causes her whole body to feel bruised from the contact—this was brutal.

      “That’s our brother for you.  You won’t beat the strongest knight in Nohr by sleeping all day Corrin.”  Corrin’s first thought as she slumps on her sword-crutch is _Leo is insufferable as always._

          “Giving up so soon Corrin?  I expect more of you. You are a princess of Nohr!  Pick up your sword and try again.” Her taskmaster was proving unwilling to lighten her load it seems.  “But Xander, I-”

          Xander’s curt voice cuts off her protest “We train like this so we can defend ourselves from our enemies, they will not be so forgiving as I am.  Father has been tracking your progress, If you can’t land a hit on me today” His free hand reaches to stroke his scruffy chin “he may never permit you to leave the Northern Fortress,  ever.”

     She can’t believe it, her father wouldn’t!  “What?! D-did he really say that? That’s insane!”

         The grin spreading across the Crown Prince’s face was knowing and invigorated by the scent of challenge.  “Motivated are we? Then use that fire to best me in battle Little Princess, you do wish to see the world outside these walls do you not?  Now, prove that all of the time I have devoted to your training has not been in vain!”

  He sat there, mocking her with his easy air of deadly prowess.  Frustration boils from deep in her guts, simmering and bubbling with acidic violence as it spills over into her limbs.  Mist clouds her vision as vitriol nips and bites at her psyche while her thoughts spiral into incoherency. Unthinking, Corrin charges again—buoyed by anger and killer instinct honed by years of brutal “training.”  Her mistake becomes clear to her too late to pull back and reconsider, the only clue the slight shake of Xander’s perfect gold-blond head. His sword swings up with incredible speed to intercept her path of destruction, clipping Corrin’s shoulder and skull as it shears her long hair in its arc up.  She is sent flying across the tower’s roof to smash right into the rampart, spine first—her pain sharply vocalized to the stars and darkness above.

  Gone was the cloying mist from her eyes and with it came the beginnings of strategy.  Clawing her way to two feet and a crutch Corrin stares down her older brother as blood drips down her brow and over her right eye.  Manic eyes and step erratic she once again charges the unassailable bastion, sword pointed straight for Xander’s breast. Once more he sends his blade whirling towards Corrin to bat her away but she was not fighting blindly this time, she had her faculties under control.  Pulling back her blade she twists sideways to come around to Xander’s front and brings the tip of her sword up and across his hip plates, scratching the sheen and ripping the royal purple tabard draped over it.

  Sadly she could do no more as Xander’s mighty sword twirled back around to smack the blade right out of her hands, nearly breaking one of them in the process.  Further and further out the blade flies, right over the side of the tower and far down to the ground below.

  Leaning on his stilled blade Xander begins to clap.  “Well done Corrin, you’re getting stronger every day.”  Corrin, however, sinks to her knees—exhausted beyond words as she stares limply at Xander’s armored boots.   “Typical.” Leo’s sardonic voice drifts through the chilly air towards the pair “You know that true strength is more than simple swordplay, right?”  Xander’s voice seems to chide but lacks the edge of a true retort

      “Calm yourself little brother, you know as well as I that Corrin has displayed both tactics and subtle swordplay today.  Whatever competition you hold with me does not matter here, even if she has chosen to follow the path of the blade rather than that of the tome.”

 

  Leo huffs “Well, just remember that pointy metal sticks are not the only path to power.”  Xander takes a moment as Corrin begins to struggle to her feet before helping her up fully and turning towards his younger brother.  “Oh, that reminds me of something I have been meaning to tell you Leo.” Leo turns his head to gaze at his brother “What?” He feigns annoyance but both siblings know he’s faking it.

      “Well… Your collar is inside out.”

 

  Frantically scrabbling at his clothes the third youngest member of the royal family flails in an attempt to right the wrong his older brother pointed out.  “Ugh! Wh-why didn’t you say something earlier?!”

  Both Xander and a still limping Corrin begin to laugh at Leo’s attempts to fix his attire.  Wiping a tear from his eye Xander heartily replies “Sorry Leo, but that sort of thing is what makes you so lovable.”  Corrin nods her head and manages to sound mostly normal “Absolutely.” It was then that the trap door leading back down into the tower opened and two figures strode out into the early morning gloom.  The first crossed to the still panicking Leo and fluffed his tunic—popping and resetting his collar and cravat to their proper place in his outfit while failing to suppress her chuckles. The younger of the two dashed gayly forward towards Corrin and began to babble incessantly as she tended to her wounds.

        “Ohmygosh Corrin!  Are you ok? Did Big Brother hurt you again?  He’s so mean isn’t he, all he does it beat you up day in and day out whenever he comes to visit.” A glare towards Xander.  “Here, it’s ok, I knew he was gonna do this again so I brought my staff and ointments just for you!”

 

  Magic oozes from her arms and hands through the staff she carries and into Corrin’s battered body, bringing vigor back into exhausted limbs.  She knew there would be a scar where Xander’s blade connected with her head. Even worse, her beautiful silver-blonde hair had been choppily shorn on that side of her scalp—hair she had spent years growing out to be as long and luscious as her older sister.  

        “Are you alright Corrin darling?”  Her older sister turned to face Corrin after attending to Leo  “It looks like you took some nasty boo boos during practice today, just let me know if you want some extra-special care.  I’d do anything for you my darling baby.”

 

  “I’ll be ok Camilla, thank you for that anyway.”  Corrin breaths out, lungs filling and emptying unobstructed by internal injury.  Her job complete for now the youngest member of Nohr’s royalty latches herself to her sister’s torso and squishes with all the power in her tiny frame.  “Hey hey hey I helped!” Her wheatfield locks flying as she nuzzles her face into Corrin’s chest. “Yes you did Elise, you were very helpful.” Corrin wheezes “I wouldn’t be able to talk right now without you.”  Xander and Camilla chuckle as they look on but Leo, ever the sourpuss, butts in “Elise, when do you intend to behave like the adult you technically are?” Grasping the bait dangled before her like a starving kitten the youngest princess leaps to her feet and charges her older brother.

        “Never!  I may be fourteen but that doesn’t mean I become all doom and gloom like you Leo. That’d be _the_ _worst_!”

 

  Elise, now playfully battering Leo’s chest, sticks her tongue out at him before twirling out of his grasp to escape retribution from the sour prince.  Camilla giggles then turns to Leo “Well I for one think her cheer is a good compliment to our gloomy kingdom.” Flipping her light lavender hair she radiates care and regal tenderness, attempting to defuse the entire conflict in one go.  It nearly works, Leo is almost disarmed but the small princess blows an obscene raspberry his direction and ignites all out war between the siblings. As he shoots off to tackle his fleeing sister Xander turns towards Corrin, still with the upturned lips that signify his genuine pleasure.  “Corrin, I have some news-” Camilla, however, jabs her brother in the side.

       “Let me tell her Xander!  Corrin we have wonderful news, Father asked us to take you back to the capital with us!”

 

  Camilla eyes’ shine with only the most brilliant sparkles and her body seeps sticky sweet joy that is infectious, even stoic Xander catches it.

       “Really?!  Does that mean…”

            “Yes.” Camilla coos “You can finally leave this drafty fortress.  I know you have been so lonely all this time, cut off from the outside world,  but now you’ll be free!”

 

  Corrin squeals.  Pivoting on her heel and jumping for joy as the frosty cracks of sunlight filter over the mountains that help protect Nohr from its ancient counterpart, Hoshido.  “Yay!” She runs and grabs both of her elder siblings in a bear hug “I’ll finally be able to leave and join the rest of you, fighting for Nohr.” Her brother gazes down with all the affection he harbors for his sister

      “We will have plenty of time to discuss the details of that with Father.  Let us depart with due haste.”

  


  Corrin had sped down the flights of stairs after processing the news that she was to leave home.  Somehow Flora and Felicia had known far sooner than she herself had and already gotten the castle’s staff to whip up a special “going away meal” as they went to pack Corrin’s necessities for the trip.  Upon arriving in the intimate dining hall she was greeted by the last member of her retinue, Sir Gunter. Sprightly for his old age, the veteran knight nevertheless carried the gravitas needed to command an army even if it had been years since he had done so.  As always he was up bright and early and out of his usual armor, most likely just back from jogging around the premise.

  He munches on a piece of jam and toast while reading what looked to be a sheet of parchment—likely a report or something judging by the pen and inkwell on the table—and turns his head to greet Corrin as she enters the snug dining hall.

        “Ah Corrin, I was nearly felled by a shooting sword as it plummeted from the sky while I was doing my morning routine.  Would you happen to know anything about this?”

 

  His gruff baritone carries the hint of his faraway hometown but was slightly muffled by his toast.  Despite the chipper tone of his voice Corrin freezes in abject terror, she had nearly been the death of him.  Her skin—already pale from the years spent couped up in the snowy wastes of the northmost end of the kingdom—becomes white as a sheet and sweat begins to gather across her brow, palms and feet.  Incomprehensible horror at even the idea of losing Gunter roots Corrin to the cold stone floor.

  Her petrification ends as someone bumps into her back as they pass, breaking the spell of misery cast upon her.  Blinking, Corrin swivels her head around to see who had freed her, only to be greeted by the final swish of a ruby tipped braid as it went back into the servant’s corridor.  She knew of only one person with such hair and a smile flutters on her lips before she goes to sit next to Gunter at the table while it is still quiet. The first to trickle in was Jakob—barely awake and as dour as usual when duty required formal meals with royalty.  The two greet him as he moves to sit at the near end of the table, something he acknowledges with a reverent bow of his head. While Gunter and Jakob begin to needle each other the staff brings breakfast to the table. Elise, sensing the sweet aroma of food, throws open the doors to the dining room with the most smug, triumphant air her petite frame was capable of—which in truth was an immense amount—and takes up the seat on Corrin’s other side.  Her grin was, as always, terminally spreadable and no sooner as she turned its luminescence upon Corrin did the older sister’s mouth move to mimic it.

  It took a few extra minutes for the rest of the ensemble to join Corrin at the table.  While her siblings, especially Xander, were here her trusted companions and attendants waited on everyone—with varying degrees of practiced ease—instead of joining them at table.  The siblings banter—with Gunter joining occasionally and Jakob desperately trying to blend into the scenery—as their meal was served and consumed and any troubles were forgotten in the found camaraderie for a time. Soon, however, it drew to a close—everyone having eaten their fill and Flora taking the plates away before Felicia could drop them.  As her siblings leave to finish her packing—Jakob had gotten up to attend to something in his office earlier while Gunter helped poor Felicia clean up yet another broken glass—Corrin pulls her chair out but someone catches her from behind.

  She was only slightly older than Corrin with topaz eyes that could shine eerily in the dark and the strangest natural hair color Corrin knew of; sapphire blue that faded into a ruby red towards the tips of her long, braided hair.  “I hear you are finally allowed to leave the fortress Lady Corrin.” she simpered “You must be very happy.” Corrin looks at her with the slyest of grins and the smallest of batted eyelashes but Lilith interrupts the coy comment. “I must attend to more of my duties here but once they are done I will join you in the capital, does that please m’lady?”  She was, of course, very pleased at this news and showed it by hugging her long-time friend and confidant around the neck.

     “Glad to hear it!  I’d miss you if we couldn’t be together again…”  

 

  “Good.”  She affectionately gazes at Corrin before stealing a quick glance to and fro and pecking her on the forehead.

  The rest of the morning went by quickly—her maids having seen to most of the packing for the trip overland to reach the capital of Windmire.  Before she knew it the royal family was gathered outside the stables as the last of the bags were packed onto the carriage that would take half of them—plus Corrin’s maids—to the capital and to King Garon.  At first Gunter was nowhere to be found, something that broke Corrin’s tender heart, but just as she gave up hope her shining knight appeared. Dressed in his formal military regalia Gunter approaches with Jakob in toe.

      “My Lady, it has been a pleasure to serve you and your guests as the castellan of this fort.  May I present you with the official congratulations of the entire garrison and staff along with this.”

          His outstretched hand proffers a wrapped, oblong gift cleverly sealed in wax paper for travel.  “Thank you, Jakob, it has been my absolute pleasure to stay in your fort for the past ten years.  You have been a wonderful host and I wish I had more time to craft you a present worthy of such hospitality.”

 

  The young man bows low “We wish you safe travels, Princess Corrin, and may the Dusk Dragon favor your feet.”  With nothing more to be said the three Nohrian sisters bundled themselves into the interior of the carriage as Xander and Leo bid their farewells—promising to be back at the capital as soon as their businesses were concluded—with the two maids taking up on the roof and Gunter at the reigns.  

“Oh, I’m going to miss this place.”  Camilla sighs as they crest the hill that serves as the fortress’s geographical defense

       “So many fond memories.  Like that one time where you almost fell off the top of the stables because you were playing Ninjas and Spies.  Or when you ran about the castle grounds naked because you refused to take a bath at that _exact_ moment...”

           “Stop it Camilla!”  Corrin blusters

       “How could I?”  Camilla continues undeterred “My precious baby bird is finally spreading her wings.  Soon you won’t need to come back to me to get them patched up, it makes my heart break just thinking about it…”

           “Oh come on”  Corrin huffs “You’re my older sister.  I’m sure I’ll come to you with all sorts of problems that I can’t talk about with anyone else…”

      Elise seems to take offense to this “Whaaa?!  You go to her about stuff you don’t come to me about?!?  I’m, like, the _best_ sister ever I know tons of stuff!”  “And who was the one who told me I could get pregnant by kissing someone?”  The youngest princess throws up her hands “Not me!”

           

             “Riiiiiight…”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  As this is a long, long work I wanted to bring in an aspect of audience participation, so here goes.
> 
> A few questions:  
> -Should Mozu be recruited into the party? (She will be seen regardless and play a minor role in the story but since this is taking after the Revelations route I wonder if having so many characters in the party is really necessary... Especially ones not "mission critical" no matter how sweet and adorable and amazing they are)  
> -On a similar vein, should Hinata be recruited? Should he be relplaced with Hisime? Should either of them join at all? (I find Hinata to be like Arthur, pretty one note and not even a really good one at that. Saying this, Hinata will appear in the story but as of now will not be recruited. As a side note if he is recruited I will have him and Hisime be brothers, not father-son, because I like that dynamic more and having Hisime makes Hinata interesting so I want to have both if I have one.)  
> -Who should Elise's second retainer be? Should she even have another one besides Effie? (having never really cared for Arthur I did not, naturally, include him or his son in the already massive roster I've drawn up. If enough people ask for him to be included I will but otherwise he's out for the count. If you want someone else I'll even *gasp* write in an OC should people ask, otherwise gimme another character from a Fire Emblem game you'd want in that spot and I'll make it happen.)  
> -Should Jakob become an active party member? (He is being replaced by Felicia as the opening active-party member but like in the game itself, he could be recruited later. Should he stand right next to Corrin or shall he stay one of the supporting cast, albeit one who will definitely be in the story)  
> Worry not, nothing needs to be decided for a few months as of the original posting of this(Dec. 2018). Ya'll got tiiiiime.
> 
> "Next Chapter: Corrin arrives at the capital of Nohr, but something isn't right with her rather absentee father...  
> At least the city is nice to look at!"


	2. The Gift of Ganglari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The princess has finally left her tower after all these years. Even if she remembers nothing everything is the same, even her Father.
> 
> It's a dream come true—she's come back home... Right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try to keep this work as appropriate as possible while still accomplishing what I want with the fic and keeping level with the original work. There will be occasional swearing but I will try and keep it at the same level as the games—light and only every so often. The other kind of material people get worked up about—sex—is a part of both this fic and the original product. Nothing explicit will enter the main fic—smut and extreme steaminess will be relegated to side stories with specific tags ya'll—but some chapters will have what could be called "erotic imagery" which is to say what may be happening is a character experiencing something erotic, sometimes in detail, but it will not progress to the dreaded act of (bum bumm BUUUUM) sex. This part of the work will do its best to stay "Teen and Up."
> 
> I say this here because this chapter has a very graphic and potentially disturbing depiction of death. "Viewer caution is advised."

  To look at the city of Windmire from a distance one would assume it was an exclusively wealthy city—with great houses, monuments and greenery prevalent in and around the approach to Castle Krakenburg.  Intellectually, Corrin knew that underneath the veneer of prosperity lay a dark underbelly, great underground sprawls and slum districts that literally held up the upper crust of Nohr. Seeing it, however, was something completely different.  Nowhere was the urban blight and poverty she had read about—only the most idyllic scenery Nohr had to offer.

  The carriage had wound its way up the slope to the main gates of the capital city, even the many guards dared not stop it as they ascended to the home of royalty.  Corrin couldn’t help but hold her breath as they cross the final gate. Rich townhouses line expertly paved streets and lamps, dark at this hour of day, follow the roads as if marking distance by their intervals.  The city’s main avenue bustles, carts ferrying supplies to and from the capital’s businesses and the outside world.

  Her sisters were passive, they got to see this scenery every day so it must have lost all its luster for them.  Elise, leaning casually on the sill drumming her fingers on her chin, and Camilla—blissfully asleep in a rare moment of peace and quiet.  Corrin, however, could barely contain her excitement, she was back in Windmire! Soon she would have an audience with her father, a chance to see and talk to him for the first time in four years!  She practically bounces in her seat with the combined joy of being out of her tower and seeing her father at last.

  The three princesses exit the carriage and descend the stairway to the very bottom of the chasm at the heart of Windmire.  Like the concept of the panopticon Leo had told her about, Castle Krakenburg rises as the eye in the cylindrical mass of teeming houses, bazaars and tenements that lined the exterior and continued far into the underbelly of the vast metropolis substructure.  Finally, the great doors of Castle Krakenburg loom from across the only public entrance between the capital and the heart of the nation.  Shivers run up and down the middle princess’s spine despite the odd heat that permeates this depth of the city. Maybe it was something from before her memory loss, something that makes her feel uncomfortable staring at this imposing spire of twisting metal and stone—everything seeming to jut at odd angles and defy the laws of nature in its feats of insane architecture.  

  Now, nearing the giant entrance doors, Corrin is able to inspect the intricate woodwork adorning them.  To her, it looks like a story; what seems to be a dragon coming down and blessing a man who in turn blesses other people that begin to toil in cold hard earth to build what eventually becomes the great city of Windmire.  Before she could scrutinize the imagery further the doors creak and grind open with the deliberate weight befitting of such magnificent works of art. She picks up her pace and almost skips—most unladylike for someone of her age and stature—until she matches pace with Camilla and Elise.

  The light of a thousand candles suspended from holders, chandeliers and magically held in place floating just below the ceiling greet her.  Corrin finds it hard to breathe as she gapes at the biggest room she could ever imagine being in. The crossroads for the administrative personnel of the kingdom, there were dozens—no, scores—of people bustling back and forth on their way to feeling important in their tiny little way.  Her sisters stride onwards with the confidence befitting of true nobility, parting the sea of bureaucrats as they make their way towards the grand audience chamber.

  Through another set of doors already open for their arrival the trio moves to approach the grandiose stairway separating the Great Throne of Nohr and the outside world.  They are waylaid by three familiar faces; still dressed in their maid outfits the vanilla cream ponytail of Felicia and the sky blue braids of Flora sway with their walk as they approach, Gunter in his fitted plate and scarred face following behind them.  Both women curtsy in tandem for Corrin, their show of obeisance long and low, while Gunter curtly nods. “My Lady.” Her maids move to flank her wings, Gunter taking up the rearguard.  The assent proper is blocked—an impressive figure clothed in onyx and gold, plumed rust-red feathers like some insecure bird adoring his mane, a chipped partial mask concealing an eye and cheek.  It leers down at the group alongside his visible eye as they approach the stairs, his folded arms stiff and judgmental. Clearly, this man is very unliked—even by the ever trusting ray of sunshine that is Elise—since both her sisters and her maids bristle at his appearance.  Camilla takes hold of Corrin’s sleeve, pretending to be subtle but being anything but, his frown of disapproval like the dourest of rainbows.

  Atop the crest of the staircase sits the public throne of King Garon—his real throne hidden away behind this largely ceremonial one.  He looks ancient, the years of kingship weighing down on the giant armored form, his hair stark white with a jet black streak running down his impressive snowy beard.  Corrin doesn’t even see his eyes until she comes closer, so sunken into his skull and ringed with exhaustion that they seem only to be shadows. He sits well upon his long-time throne—his blubber covered by the umbral plate and great fur coat he wears while his curves are accentuated by the armor’s gold trim and accompanying royal sash.  She curtsies low in deference and supplication to her royal patriarch and father, with this King Garon rumbles to life “I see you made it here safely Corrin.” It’s tone like the rasping of a tomb and the grating of its iron bars.

            “Yes, Father” She says “long have I wished to see you and visit Castle Krakenburg again.  I feel like I’m dreaming…”

                  “It is only thanks to your diligence that you are here.  You finally possess the strength to be an instrument of Nohr’s power in the world.”

        Before she could respond Elise butts in.  “But, Father, will she be alright outside the fortress?”  Camilla then takes up the banner Elise raised.

               “I worry about that as well.  Isn’t it dangerous for Corrin to be outside the fortress’s magical barrier?”

 

  Corrin’s irritation becomes palpable  “I appreciate your concern but I’ve earned my way here and I’m ready to fight.”  While she cannot see it a sly smirk peers around her father’s ever-present frown.  “Corrin, as you know, Nohr is at war with the eastern kingdom of Hoshido.” There’s a slight pause—Corrin expecting him to continue without her input until it becomes clear he won’t.  “Yes father, I have heard as much.”

          “We of the royal family are descendants of the ancient gods, the First Dragons.  As inheritors of that divine strength, it is our right to dominate those of lesser blood.  It is why I have called you to me. You, like all your siblings, posses the blood of such Dragons.  It gives you the potential to cleave whole armies of soldiers. Xander, Camilla, Leo and even Elise have demonstrated to me that they possess this inner power, now it is your turn to prove to me you can take your place among them as true nobles of Nohr.”

               Her face shines at such praise.  “I am aware of your expectations Father and I have trained every day to become more like my siblings.”  He pauses for only an instant.

          “You show promise.  But you will need a suitable weapon in order to serve Nohr.”

 

  From the ground, a twisted blade of chiseled shadow rises.  Its handle looks to be made of obsidian and bone, the curved blade like plates of shadow shifting and clashing within its sword-shaped prison.  It hovers in the air before Corrin, radiating a fell aura that sends primal trepidation and awe throughout her entire body. Her hand feels drawn to its haft and they move free of any will other than the blade’s.  When her fingers tighten their grip around the sword her father speaks.

         “This is Ganglari.  It is a sword infused with magic siphoned from another world.  With it you shall crush the Hoshidan army with ease.”

 

  Awe seeps through her voice “I-Thank you for this generous gift Father.”  Garon’s lips curl into a mirthful smile “Now, let us put this sword to a more proper use.”  He turns his head to the side to beckon to an unseen soldier. “Bring out the prisoners!”  “Yes My Lord!” Corrin locks eyes with her father’s cold visage. “Prisoners?!”

  Three figures frog-march into the pristine chamber, hands bound behind their backs and bodies scarred from whips and blunt objects.  One of them, the only woman, wears bandages around her breasts and tattered trousers above her bare feet. Her shock of snowy hair uncommon for someone obviously no more than twenty years.  The next was stripped down to the waist, his body covered in scars far older than his recent, swollen bruises. His hair has been clearly cut and not of his own volition—lush brown bereft of its ponytail by some dastardly weapon against fashion.  His face would have been handsome without the swelling, even sporting a fetching scar upon his right cheek. The last of the defeated trio wore a rough, leaf-green tunic with bulbous dark purple pants that would extend to his feet if they were not slashed to have easy access to his tender toes.  His similarly green hair lies mussed over his serene face, his eyes peering out with hawkish intensity. King Garon gestures towards the assembled prisoners.

        “These are spies we captured as they attempted to infiltrate our proud city.  I wish to see your power, and yours alone, firsthand. Strike them down for their crimes against Nohr!”

 

  She turns towards the prisoners—pain creasing her face and twisting it into a grotesque mockery of its true form.  “What are your names and crimes?” She croaks “I would know them before carrying out my father’s sentence.” The woman, fire leaping in her eyes, turns her head to her executioner and spits.  

        “I am Rinkah, daughter of the honorable chief of the Flame Tribe.  I would know your name, Nohrian, so I may tell my ancestors whom to smite!”

              “I am Corrin, middle child of King Garon.  I-”

         “Corrin?  Can it be?”

 

  “Huh?” Her head swivels as surprise erases the lines drawn across her face to the green-haired prisoner “You’ve heard of me?”  His eyes give away nothing as he stands in silence. “I am Kaze, a ninja of Hoshido.” All the lines wrinkle up her pretty face as he finishes, he refuses to say any more.  Finally, the last man lifts his head. “I am Hinata and when I get out of here I’m gonna tell my Lord Takumi exactly where to put his arr-” The soldier who brought him beats the back of his head sending the man tumbling to the floor, groaning in pain.

  Corrin hesitates—these are helpless and bound prisoners no matter what their crimes may be.  All her study had told her nothing of this new reality of war and justice. “Kill them, kill them all!”  Her father demands, his face turning to chiseled stone. “Father, they are defenseless, to strike them down would be wrong.”  She argues. Obviously, this is the wrong response for her father as he sighs and snaps his fingers, signal for the guards to cut the bindings on their charges.  Hinata wastes no time, he barrels right for Corrin before either of his compatriots could hold him back from his foolhardy fate. He goes for the blade—years of combat-tested swordsmanship dictating his actions—and beats it away from her as he closes the gap.

  She topples with him onto the ground, Ganglari still clutched tightly in her hands as he moves to pin her.  Hinata scuffles for dominance and she fights desperately for control over the situation as everyone looks on in silence.  He ends on top of her, pinning her sword arm to the ground with his foot as he uses his other leg to try to pin both of hers while her last arm is held at the elbow with his.  He punches her square on the jaw, desperation and the thrill of combat giving him the strength sapped from him by hours of torture and a day’s starvation. She whimpers in pain, her nose bleeding and lip broken open with crimson sliding down to the barren stone floor.  Satisfied that he has beaten her into submission he goes for her blade, loosening his grip on her legs to be able to easily reach it.

  Corrin takes her chance, pivoting her hips up and bringing her legs to wrap around his neck, she puts her considerable strength into flipping the Hoshidan onto the floor with her.  His head cracks on the cold ground, dazing him and giving her the opening she needs to subdue him. She wraps her hand around his throat as she brings her forehead to connect with his unbroken nose—a sickening crunch rings out across the acoustic hall.  She tries to let go of her sword, bring her other fist to bear, but it refuses to release the eerie grip.  In fact, it begins to tremble and raise itself by the pommel and Corrin lets go of Hinata’s neck to try and wrestle with her erstwhile blade.  He doesn’t know of this—eyesight clouded by bangs and bruises as it is—and realizing her hand is off his neck he takes his opportunity to rise and tackle Corrin.  Her sword wins out. In the moment before Hinata is able to see the blade in her hands it surges forward and meets the bare-chested samurai head on. It dives into his sternum as he rushes upwards, deep into his organs.

  He splutters, blood welling up in his punctured stomach as the wind gets knocked out of him.  He hears a shriek, feminine and concerned for his impending death. Vision tunnels tighter and tighter around the last point in his world, his killer’s silvery hair.  It’s pretty, he thinks, haphazardly cropped on one side and the other longer than his vision will allow. It’s different and definitely fetching now that he really looks at her, rather than at what she represents.  He’d smile but instead all he does is cough as her crimson slit eyes fill his rapidly shrinking world. Everything’s fuzzy now, sound and feeling melting away as even the pain numbs. She’s sobbing now—maybe she didn’t want to kill him after all.   _It’s ok you’re too pretty to cry._

  Suddenly his world snaps back into focus but now everything is fire and agony!  The wound in his side screams at him—the blade splinters as it’s pulled out like it wanted to leave shrapnel behind if it wasn’t allowed to stay buried within his body.  He sees now that she’s not like other people, her ears are pointed and two of her teeth are elongated like a dog or a cat’s and her hair is…

  The body below her convulses slightly, his eyes focusing and unfocusing as she desperately tries to close the wound she opened.  She couldn’t ask for help—even this futile attempt to save the prisoner’s life would be judged as moral weakness by her father—but she didn’t care, she would do what she now felt was right.  His life slipped between her fingers as she sobs. _By the Gods and all that is Holy, killing is nothing like fighting._

  Finally, she gave up.  He wasn’t dead, not quite yet, but she finally admitted to herself she could do no more.  She got up—much more tired than she had been going into this meeting—and turned towards her father.  His eyes were cold, dead to the world. They gaze down at her and through her as a coroner does a cadaver, or a child does a colony of ants.  Her eyes become saucers for him, pleading and begging with his humanity to let her not do this, let her not go down this horrible path.

  “My Lord…”  It’s Gunter, kind and scarred Gunter.  Something gives in the King’s resolve, the head nods slightly and she hears the prisoners knocked unconscious and their limp bodies dragged back to whatever pit they were stored in.  Hinata is also dragged from his resting place, probably to be dumped in some garbage pile or pyre to warm the extreme poor that come with any city. Her father refuses to speak anymore—Corrin knows what she did in disobeying him.  She nearly drops the sword, his gift to her, but decorum and a sense that if she were to do that she would be dead prevent her. Instead, she moves to sheath it and the hilt pins itself to her side on its own—yet more terrifying evidence.  She bows her head in shame—shame at her failure in his eyes and shame at how horrible his expectation was. She realizes apologies will not work now, only after reflection on her misdeeds will he permit her to atone. She shuffles towards the stairs leading down and out to the exit of the royal palace.

  A firm hand stops her.  She shrinks away from the familiarity of the tender, caring grip of Camilla.  It does not falter—leading her astray—away from the vast stairs towards a side door leading out and up into the belly of the castle.

 

         “Darling are you ok?  What can big sister do to make you feel better?”

 

  She’s sitting on the gigantic plush purple pillows of Camilla’s suite in the castle, blood still on her fancy clothes from her ordeal almost a half hour ago. She’s being fawned over but right now but she doesn’t care, all she can feel is a numb tingle encompassing her whole body and mind as her murderous hand throbs.

         “I killed him.”  She finally speaks, raspy and tear-barren

               “Yes honey, you did.  I know it isn’t what you wanted to hear but this is a part of life.  As an instrument of Nohr part of our duty is fighting and killing our enemies, something you must prove to Father you can do should he call upon you.  It’s not a nice feeling, your first kill, which is why Father let you leave without executing the other prisoners.”

 

  Her voice is soothing, calm even, although the exact words and concepts she is saying make Corrin’s mind cringe in disgust.  This is not how people should be, they should be different. People should have to think twice before killing someone, even an enemy, and to think even her sister—whose kindness and tenderness was all the motherly love Corrin had for years—would have killed defenseless prisoners without a second thought…  Maybe she wasn’t cut out for being a warrior, maybe she shouldn’t ever have wanted to see the outside world if it meant having to become _this_.  The words don’t come, the redemption or repentance don’t come.  All that does is the empty pit in her hollowed-out stomach that sucks her innocence out through her throat and lungs.

  Camilla’s arms encircle Corrin’s newly fragile head, pulls it to her breast and the soft comfort they offer.  She sobs. Sobs for Corrin and how fast her little baby bird’s been forced to grow up, sobs because she’s the only one there with tears left to shed.  She rocks Corrin to sleep in the safety of her lap, singing a lullaby she made up herself long, long ago.

  Corrin wakes, the lights of the metropolis bright through the dark curtains as the sun fell behind the world, it takes her a minute to adjust to the gloom surrounding her.  Camilla’s gone, the only indicator of her whereabouts a note on her ornate writing desk. In the flowing, brilliant hand she reads:

“My dear Corrin.

I know today has been trying for you. I have spoken with your maids and they will bring you supper so if it has not arrived, do not fret, they will come.  Leo has returned from his mission abroad and while Xander has not as of writing this, I am told he should be here by tomorrow morning so we will all be together again by breakfast!  Elise and I are planning on taking you out on the town tonight so make sure you are presentable before we come and get you at eight. There are clothes in the closet made just for you by our darling Forrest—he’s such a dear, sweet boy.

In a related matter, you did receive a lady caller shortly after you fell asleep.  She came claiming to be the daughter of your old babysitter Silas and requested an audience with you for some reason—she wouldn’t say.  I would recommend listening to her, she was absolutely adorable in her dress uniform and I know you could use someone younger than Gunter, workhorse that he is, making sure you are well protected.

Regardless, we shall have a wonderful time tonight and tomorrow we can see if Father will have an audience with you to accept your apologies and forgive you.

 

Lots of Love, Smooches and Cuddles darling.

-Your Big Sister”

 

  She was conflicted.  Her world had crashed down around her and left Corrin with a jigsaw puzzle that lacked edges.  She knew she loved her family: Stern and distant Xander, warm and motherly Camilla, aloof yet soft Leo and Elise—bubbly and optimistic in the face of everything Elise.  Even her father, she loved him despite not remembering a single moment in which he had shown her any instance of warmth or kindness. Maybe it was the day’s events—it must be—that made her forget the good things her father had done for her.  The war had taken its toll with him, made him hard and cold and distant. She just needed to give him time. Time to warm back up to his daughter who he’d sent away for her own protection until she was strong enough to come out of her tower and join him as Father and Daughter.

  The clothes Camilla mentioned were beautiful.  Elegant in their flowing majesty yet not ostentatious or impractical like some of the dresses she had read about.  Frills and embroidery, certainly, but they were uniquely intricate and tasteful which only served to accentuate the innate charm of the ensemble.  It even came with shorts that were hidden by the dress, practicality mixed with fashion to produce a work that spoke to Corrin on a deeper level than the usual tunic and trousers ever could.  The color was the only thing she could do without. A pale pink similar to a slightly flushed skin tone but perhaps that was the fashion of the day—she had certainly liked it well enough when she was six so why shouldn’t grown ladies like it now?

  It was surprisingly easy to put on, so much so that she stripped her old clothes and dressed in the new ones within a minute; she even managed it without assistance!  As soon as she was in the private washroom she went about wiping off the remnants of the makeup she had cried to smithereens what seemed like a lifetime ago—eyes red raw still no matter how much water she splashed on her face.  She was drained, empty even after hours in dreamless sleep so uncharacteristic of her recent past. Now, however, her body had more pressing concerns—namely the need for food.

  As if replying to her mental request a bell chimes throughout the suite and a soft muffled voice speaks

        “Lady Corrin?  I brought you food.”

 

  It was Felicia.  She was flushed, eyes nearly crossed as she tries to hold the platter steady between her hands and her tongue sticks out just a little.  Quickly, before permanent damage could be done, Corrin takes the rather hefty serving platter from her maid’s hands and beckons her inside with a wiggle of the eyebrows.

        “How was your day Felicia?  I take it you didn’t stand around the whole time waiting for me to get up so you had something to do.”  She joked, trying to blanket any sign of pain with trademark humor.

             “Weeeeeell…” Felicia stalls “We didn’t _stand_ around all day, but we did wait for you to get up.”  She giggles like a schoolgirl—not that Corrin knew how they actually giggled or anything, she just understood they were supposed to giggle like Felicia.

 

  “Well, I’m glad.” Corrin opens up the lid hiding her supper.  Any other statement she had lined up falls to the wayside as the aromas of palace food waft into her nose.  “Goulash!” She turns her head to her maid “Where did you find this?” The pure excitement in her voice and eyes was heady and the puppy-dog like way she looks at her maid brought a smile.

        “They were serving it for supper milady.  Not for the Lords and Ladies I mean, for people like us.”  She nods, maybe a bit shyly.

             “Oh, this is fantastic!  Thank you SO much, Felicia, this is quite the treat.”

 

  Like a starved animal she wolfs down her meal.  Time hardly passes before the entire heaping bowl of stew and the accompanying bread are gone into the princess’s vast, cavernous stomach.  She puts the platter aside and hugs her longtime retainer with renewed intensity like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to a jagged rock just offshore.  Corrin understands the existence of social standing and the consequences of someone “fraternizing above their station” so, just in case, she reluctantly lets go of her maid to resume the proper formality between master and servant—her needs fighting a war with etiquette.  “What time is it now?” She asks since there didn’t seem to be a clock in sight. “About half past the hour of six milady.”

  Shock jolts the princess’s mind “I’ve been asleep for four HOURS!?”  She gapes at her maid, incredulous. Felicia is flustered but manages to get out “Y-yes milady, four hours.”  She fidgets in her seat “Lady C-Camilla gave strict orders n-not to disturb you.” Corrin ruffles her hair in frustration and her fingers slide over the uneven side’s crew cut.  She turns to her maid with a plan in her eye. “Felicia, could you help me with something?”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one question this time:
> 
> -Should Silas, Charlotte and Benny be recruited? (As this is the first mention of Silas and his daughter, should the parents tag along on her adventure?)
> 
> Next Chapter: "A choice, dear reader. Do you continue on into the next numbered chapter and plunge into the Bottomless Canyon or dally a little in Windmire, explore the city with Camilla and Elise? Maybe find love where you least expect it? Corrin and I need A Night On The Town."


	3. Interlude 1: A Night On The Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "An Interlude from the troubles and dangers of the world sung by the innocent heart of a maiden caught in the whirlpool of Fate.  
> What misadventures could her sisters have planned? Will the princess find True Love in the busy streets of her homeland?
> 
> The first of many adventures is about to embark."
> 
> An optional path, made to shine light on those left in shadow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I were to redesign Fire Emblem Fates one of the big changes I would implement is side content like this. Optional events that add context and depth to the world and characters around the protagonist without the need for a combat level or grinding for Support conversations. In my mind they would be gated, only appearing before or after certain chapters and accessible only for a time, but nevertheless happen with or without the player viewing them. Thus was born "Interludes." My goal with "Interludes" is to bake into the work different aspects of the characters—moments of levity or heart-to-heart conversations with Corrin for instance—paired with explorations of the world that hopefully add to the pacing of the story. While in the grand scheme of things chapters with the "Interlude" title are optional, and therefore skippable, I would still recommend reading these.
> 
> "Interludes" are still focused around Corrin and her adventures, meaning to get stories like the epic romance between Ryoma and Scarlet ya'll gonna have to hit up the side fics released periodically. I will (as of writing this-1/13/19) find a way to get them all collected so everyone will know which stories I've posted are side fics and which are unrelated to this work.

  By the time the great bells of Windmire began to chime the hour of nine, Camilla and Elise had arrived back in Camilla’s suite, dressed to impress.  Elise was in a variation of her usual—pink and frilly—but with a lower cut v-neck and lacy stockings with a cute parasol that probably worked as some secret staff if Corrin knew her sister at all.  Camilla, predictably, wore the kind of evening gown that drew lustful gazes while showing relatively little of the first princess’s many assets. It was near black with amethyst highlights to accentuate her curves.  A black lace garter that held up her white stockings peeked out from the side of the dress, distracting from the knife strapped to the inside of it.

  To say they were stunning would not fully capture their ability to blind and petrify, or at least Camilla’s ability too.  Elise liked her cute airs and, even if she seemed to try and be more like Camilla, to truly compete with her sister she would require a radical makeover.  Corrin’s younger sister chirps, “Hey there silly, hope you had a nice nap!” as she bounces into the room, getting five steps past the threshold before she notices what changed with her sister and gasps.

    “Wow, look at your hair!  I thought you wanted it long like Camilla and me, why’d you change it?” Corrin smiles, then sighs—she only got a quirked eyebrow out of Camilla over this.

        “Well sis, Xander kinda cut my hair a bit and this was the first chance I’ve had to get my hair fixed to match.  It would just get in my way anyway what with all the sword fighting.” Camilla chuckles before giving her best smile to Corrin

    “It looks dashing on you my little bird, as does that dress!  Leo doesn’t know what he’s missing with that child of his.” Her tresses flip back and forth with her head.  “I’ve tried to talk with him about Forrest but somehow he just doesn’t understand how absolutely darling his little fashion designer is.”  Corrin’s face turns as red as her eyes as she shuffles a little from foot to foot

 

  “Gee thanks big sis, I’m glad you think it-” She double takes, “Leo has a KID?!”  Her sisters stare at her in shock—clearly Leo is in need of a good talking to about his family.  Elise clasps Corrin’s hands violently, pulling them to her chest in manic desperation.

    “You HAVEN’T heard about Forrest?!  The nerve of him! Just because it didn’t work out doesn’t mean he shouldn’t introduce you to the most beautiful boy member of our happy family!”  Elise begins to bounce “Forrest is just the _cutest_ person you could ever meet!  He’s so pretty and he loves dresses and designing beautiful things and he’s even better than Camilla at sewing, stitching, embroidery, crochet, and even leather working!  He’s the reason I have such cute clothes to wear all the time, he’s such a sweet boy and so young too—he’s almost my age!”

        “Oh darling, we’ll have to introduce you sometime, you’d love him.  He’s simply the sweetest boy I’ve ever known and I just want to spoil him rotten.”  The adoration in Camilla’s eyes is blatant, a very good sign.

 

  The three ladies make their escape from the imposing castle and wind their way up to the ground level of the city.  It’s almost the polar opposite of how it looks during the daytime, carts don’t move along the streets as much but the people!  The populace of Windmire proper are out in force, drinking and revelling and plying their wares in the streets while the lifeblood of the city moves around and over them.  It’s prosperous—in a way peaceful amidst the bustle and hustle—to the point where one could look and not notice that this is a country actively fighting a war for the very fate of the continent.  As the three move down the main avenue a squad of drunken mercenaries—judging by their mishmashed armor and colors—sway and sing past in an approximation of a harmony, their jovial lady captain squished in the middle of the motley crew.  The singing is odd and off key to Corrin’s ears but that fact simply makes her laugh more, _what an odd group!  I guess you really can find anything in Windmire._ She thinks as the cohort of soldiers-for-hire march side by side into an alleyway.  

  Camilla and Elise lead Corrin past the central monument of the city—a depiction of the Dusk Dragon, patron of the Nohrian people, as it stands atop the round table that symbolizes the founders of their great nation.  The side street they move towards is packed; sellers, patrons, and residents mixing into a melange of noise and sights that blur into each other in Corrin’s brain. Her head spins from everything around her. They take her to a bar, or at least that’s what she assumes it is since it has a sit-in bar, but it turns out to be more than just that.

  In the center is a platform like a miniature theatre jutting into the main floor.  Tables and wicker chairs are arranged to revolve around it and only the bar and outlying seats are not aligned to the thrust stage.  Still dazed from the outside world Corrin is half-dragged to a seat in the front row and drinks are ordered for her. While never much of a drinker, Camilla’s tone brooks no discussion and Corrin was lucid enough by then to not argue.  She is, however, surprised when Elise too orders liquor and Corrin turns incredulous eyes towards the elder sister but all she gets is a shrug.

  They chat a little as Corrin gets more and more grounded in the reality she is in.  Gossip, funny stories, and wishful thinking—most with the needed context explained to her in low, confidential whispers by one or the other—She gets filled in on as many of the things she wasn’t told about her family as the trio can puzzle out.  Halfway through the story of how Elise met her retainer Effie fires bring themselves to light on either side of the stage’s curtain, the show is about to begin.

  Drum beats set the pace before the curtains begin to rise and reveal a figure to the audience.  Feet dainty and held in snug black slippers, the cream of their ankle’s skin shines in the turquoise faerie light.  As the bleached pants, striped with black, come into view an instrument unknown to Corrin picks up a melody, causing the dancer’s knee to start rolling and shaking to the music.  Hips jiggle as a drum joins the fray, making the girdle and associated bells ring in sympathy. Exposed belly undulates and rolls with the rhythm and Corrin has to stop herself from drooling at the sight—whomever this is she likes what she sees.  White mini vest and dark crop-top disguise the flat chest as the curtain gives way to slender arms and the rattle of a tambourine. Finally, the dancer’s head comes into view, serene and cocky all at the same time with a head of steel-grey hair framing the face wonderfully.  As the curtain finishes its climb the beautiful melody of a violin joins in to bring its grace to the act.

  The dance is strong and licentious—more beautiful than any Corrin ever saw or took part in, ever.  The tambourine accentuates the harmony the strange instrument plays, the movement of their hips sends her heart pounding.  The dancer is every inch a beauty, even the neigh unnoticeable stubble lining their chin brings depth to such radiance, and several patrons openly drool as she only wished she could.  They wink, right at her! Corrin’s face lights up like a roaring hearthfire as the dancer goes through a rather fluid routine, bending over all the way and shaking themselves up until their fingers reach towards the heavens.  The music is pounding, driving the action of the dance and the beat of everyone’s hearts as the lithe arms roll with the image of waves.

  The dancer’s face is dynamic, grinning with that “come hither” smile that makes Corrin want to swoon.  Swishing their entire body to and fro to bring a staccato beat to their bells as the music changes tempo to match, the dancer moves closer and closer to her table.  She can’t believe it, they’re coming to dance for her table! The dancer crouches low, resting on their hips as they bend over backwards and even provocatively spread their legs for her and her sisters.  Elise “Ooooo”s in appreciation and Camilla simply nods approvingly but Corrin is enchanted. Never before had anyone presented themselves with such wanton and palpable desire—and most certainly no one had done so with a body like this!

  Just as the solo begins, it ends and the dancer is suddenly back on their feet as they spy another target.  Opposite the trio of princesses is an elegant lady, hair tied up in twin tails on either side of her head. While she’s dressed in a tight-collared outfit she’s clearly sexy, full breast and round features with part of her bangs draped fetchingly over half her face.  The dancer shakes their hips alluringly towards the lady who’s only response is to give a toothy smile in return, her gaze appraising the dancer with a knowing eye. They take it further and the dancer crouches down, further and further until their pert butt nearly bounces on the floor.  The dancer drags a manicured hand down their whole body, caressing and accenting all the best features—even from Corrin’s disadvantageous position it’s a sight. The lady’s eyes light up, seeing exactly what she likes in the dancer’s moves.

  The hunger in her eyes is palpable, feral even, as she stares at the dancer.  Her whole being resonates with Corrin’s desire, like all she wants to do is get up on stage and…  Corrin’s thoughts try and go somewhere else, somewhere less treacherous considering her circumstances.  The dancer is now again on their knees, just in front of this new, sexy woman—and not their silent admirer—who is having trouble keeping her passions socially acceptable.  Doing the same tricks done at Corrin’s table the dancer elicits the reaction they were looking for. The woman is openly salivating, her visible rosy eye wide and wanting. The stimulus almost becomes too much and the dancer—knowing their place—backs away tantalizing and, as their face comes into Corrin's view, winks coyly at the woman they just teased.

  Her reaction, however, is not what Corrin is expecting.  Instead of simply looking on with puppy eyes like Corrin and others, this woman looks rather annoyed—like someone had taken away her favorite toy and nearly tipped her over the verge into extreme pouting.  Her dyed twintails quiver along with her oval face and Corrin finally notices just how fidgety this woman is.

  Solo over, the dancer returns to pleasing everyone over pleasing individual tables, the tune shifts to something faster.  Feet tapping and soul whining Corrin pines in sympathy with the woman across the way—and probably a few others out in the crowd—but the dancer was done being direct, they had gone back to their coy gyrations and maneuvers that would make any ballroom dancer blush.  Now even the dancer’s form has changed. What were once flowing and watery movements become harsh and angular, smaller and more precise in their execution of tiny shifts in the body’s position. Soon stomps join the bells and tambourine as the ensemble flies towards a fever pitch.

  The dancer’s eyes now are closed, the smile relaxed but still present like someone remembering a pleasant memory from long ago.  Whirling and leaping across the stage the dancer weaves their hands as if it were an ever shifting tapestry—its story only told in single panels and frames that all lead from one to the next.  Corrin doesn’t know the significance of the movements or the assumed story being told but she still loves every moment of it. This tall hunk of sexy is just what she needed in her life and her siblings somehow sensed that subconscious desire.   _Once this is over_ , Corrin thinks, _I need to thank both of them and then thank Camilla again in private for this_ .  Maybe she could even find out the dancer’s name?   _Not that I’m, you know, wanting to do anything like that, heheh..._ she mentally chides herself.

  Brought to a fever pitch the dancer reaches high into the sky as their fingers draw out the final patterns and shapes before the music stops, cut short while the dancer drops to their knees, legs and arms spread wide as if rapturously offering themselves to the gods.

  It was over and Corrin sat with empty glass in hand, uncomprehending of any of her surroundings.  The dancer had retired backstage and Elise was pulling on her arm to get her attention, something she only half gave.

    “Wasn’t he amazing?” She said, “Camilla said we should go to that one place she likes but I knew you would love him!  I’m right, yeah. Yeah?”

        “Honey, I think our sister is a bit…  Lost.” Camilla giggles at her little joke, unnoticed by the butt of it.  “Let’s leave her for a bit. Give the poor lady another glass and some time to recover, my he was _hot_ tonight.”

 

  Slowly coming back to her senses, mostly, Corrin still feels that fire in her gut and parts of her brain refuse to stop sizzling.  She’s at least able to form and understand coherent speech. “Who was that?” She marvels, mostly to everyone who could hear.

  “Oh that’s Laslow.”  Elise chirps “He’s one of Xander’s retainers, along with the other woman he was dancing in front of.”  Jealousy. Where before she felt it was mere coincidence he went to the other woman, now Corrin knew there was something more, and she was jealous.  For the first time in her life she was jealous over something—not petty “I want, I want” but serious “I could knife you” jealousy. Maybe it was the drink or her long standing relationship with her sisters but Camilla heads off the river before it gets too strong.

    “Laslow’s taken darling.  The woman, the one he was dancing for, is his wife Peri.  They met when he was recommended to Xander as a retainer by Father himself.  You were too young but Xander... lost his original retainers a long time ago so Father put up a contest, those two eventually caught his eye and were hired.  Oh, don’t be too sad darling, he’s a terrible flirt and came over to mess with us, he meant nothing by it.”

 

  Oh what a night!  To find love and lose it in the course of a beer—the world truly was a cruel and inhospitable place.  She glances morosely over to the table where Peri is, only to find the beautiful woman absent with her drink half finished on the table.  “Probably off to fulfill her desires…” Corrin grumbles to herself, hoping no one hears her admission.

  Flushed on alcohol, lingering arousal and a dash of embarrassment Corrin exits the bar with her sisters.  She is not used to parties, she now realizes, and her suddenly booze-fuzzled mind wasn’t doing so well after standing up.  Back home she would have the odd glass of wine whenever her whole family, minus Father, were together but that never did this much to her.  She wonders idly what exactly it was Camilla fed her. Elise on the other hand was in fine form—giddy and bubbly as ever, the only difference being more slightly flushed cheeks. 

  Her night was not completely over however.  At Camilla’s insistence the three of them make one final stop at a small street cart near the bar.  It is an odd food cart, packed with delicacies so foreign to Corrin that she found them tantalizing.  The proprietor—or at least the person serving the food—is dressed in a white and red tunic, blood-red hair complimenting the similarly crimson cape and chef’s hat.  “Welcome!” The chipper voice calls out “My food’s second to- Oh, why hello there Lady Camilla!” The smile seems genuine, if a little predatory, and Camilla waves before introducing everyone.  “Elise, Corrin this is Anna—she’s my favorite street vendor in the entire world.” She chuckles “Anna these are my sisters, Elise and Corrin.” The vendor looks the two sisters up and down, her eagle eyes appraising everything from looks to how much money they have in their pockets.  Anna winks at them “So what’ll ya have then Princesses?”

  Elise gives a quick look to Camilla that Corrin doesn’t seem to understand, something between a question and a worried look, but all Camilla does is smile back “I’d recommend the steamed bun—she’s a magician with those buns.”  Without letting the other two decide Anna claps her hands together “Three steamed buns, coming right up!” She dives behind the counter and rummages through its contents before coming back up with three wrapped packages, each steaming.  “So who’s paying?” The seller beams. Camilla pulls out her purse and fishes out the correct amount of coinage, dropping them on the lip of the stall. “Pleasure doing business with you Lady Camilla!”

  Anna’s buns are delicious!   _No_ , she realizes, _they are so much more than delicious!  I can’t even begin to fathom how amazing they are!_ Corrin never knew such culinary delight existed in all her years in the Northern Fortress, if only she had known sooner!  To her it was as if the spices and subtle flavorings all meld into one kaleidoscopic experience that serves to blow her mind beyond any compare.  Truly food for the soul. Such perfection fills her heart with the same warmth that radiates from the bun itself, she is in heaven. She reels at the possibility that food this good could be bought so cheaply—only five gold and twelve silver!  She had to come back—she has to have more! To her dismay she finds that she didn’t take any money with her. The tears falling down her cheek from her culinary bliss are now joined with those of longing, deep needy longing for more.

  Her hazy mind punches and kicks her to remember, remember where Anna and her buns are, so that she could come back tomorrow and buy more.  She needs to eat more of the food that brought her the closest she has ever come to feeling complete. For the most infinitesimal slice of eternity she had been at peace and in harmony with herself and the world—it was beautiful, revelatory even.  The light of hope has returned to her lovelorn eyes, salvation in the palm of her hand.

  Corrin feels the gentle push of Camilla’s hand behind her, breaking her from her revery and shooing everyone back home.  She smiles between mouthfuls—this is what she had longed for since the first day she could remember, right here in her grasp.

_I’m never going to let this go..._

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well now, wasn't that "steamy." I happen to be a big fan of music, dance and the social aspect of bars so I had a lot of fun imagining this chapter and putting it to paper.
> 
>  
> 
> Next Chapter: "After waking up with only hazy recollections of what happened the night before, Corrin must confront her father over her 'transgressions'. Nothing at all could possibly go wrong..."


	4. Journeys Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The princess has returned to Castle Krakenburg, her forgotten birthplace. So much is different—her Father the most—it feels like nothing is real and the vague memories of the night before don't help.
> 
> What will this new day hold, shrouded as it is by the dusk?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is the second occurrence of the dream sequence/opening I thought I should talk about why I decided to take the opening cinematic/tutorial for the game and repeat it. If this were a game I wouldn't do this, it doesn't translate well to a participatory medium when you HAVE to redo a level, but for a novel it's acceptable. I kinda liked the idea that she was being plagued by dreams of her Fate's deciding moment, the point where the stream divides and her life is put on rails until the end, so I wrote it in that she had been having this kind of thing for a while.  
> It might feel a little cliche, especially to someone as self-conscious a writer as myself, but this whole game is an intentional cliche so I think it fits, especially with the twist I added to it.

  It comes again, her dream, but it begins differently this time.  Fire and brimstone rain down as her vision zooms past scene after scene of death and destruction.  Forces clash along a multitude of different backdrops but everything was the same to her, tableaus moving at a sprint—except the figures only move from still to still, action pose to action pose—as her world shifts and morphs around her.  Giant monsters, creatures made of clay and magic, rise from the ground to claw at her as puppeted dolls wielding cruel instruments of torture are pulled along by faceless, foreign masters. Two soldiers—one a knight of Nohr and the other of Hoshido—with their arms raised to strike the other make their dramatic stand upon a rock amidst the maelstrom of stomping feet and bloody waters.

  Pull back, zoom out, as the whole dream becomes a picture on the wall of what she thinks is Castle Krakenburg.  Again, King Garon is sitting in a plush seat on a balcony. Further, it’s an opera house so vast it looks like stalls are built into the rippling floor.  A woman is on the stage, veiled in black but with vibrant azure hair that flows while she turns. Zoom in. Her dance is sensual, alluring like waves lapping at the edge of a pond, and the sway of her hip as she dances sends red heat trembling down Corrin’s spine.  Her perspective rises then falls into the gilt eye of the dancer.

  She wakes in her usual spot, that grassy field surrounded by the sounds of the soon to be dying.  There again is the assassin before her, raising his axe to plunge it deep into her flesh. It plays over again for her but the words aren’t there, only the silence of the grave.  The redheaded knight— _ my sister  _ she realizes with the sick dullness of treacle—moves her lips but no sound seems to reach Corrin’s acute ears.  The boy who had helped her the first few times this dream happened taps her on the shoulder, his great ponytail bouncing and bobbing as his face emotes silently.  

  This time the dream finishes.    After the perspective zooms to grip the action of the two gigantic, armored figures it comes back to hover high over like a bird of prey.  “We’re here to assist you” her brother and sister mouth, and the screaming assassin dies a voiceless death for the first time in all her dreams.  All the important actors move to gather around their respective pillar, her siblings with the crimson knight and the ones who claim they are her siblings—but aren’t—around the mounted one.  They face off, argue their points like petty children as their faces get worse and worse to her perspective, twisting in hate and enmity. They turn to her—all wordless yet mouths wagging in pain and desperation in the hope she will choose them over their counterpart—choose.   _ CHOOSE. _

 

  Everything hurt, especially her head, like a giant bull had run rampant throughout her whole body with the express purpose of smashing everything.  Any memory that would shed light on the reason for this refuses to raise a hand. She opens bleary eyes on a curtained ceiling somehow closer to her face than she dreamily figures it should be.  Soft warmth covers everything but her face and muffled rustling touches upon her ringing ears—she realizes she’s in a bed.

  Splitting headaches raid up and down her brain preventing any upward mobility until her muscles wake up enough to respond.  What feels like hours pass before Corrin’s arms allow her to prop herself up, neck straining to keep the skull level with the breast.

  Dark velvet rings around all four corners of the massive bed, the canopy only visible as a shadowy presence.  A body lies next to her, snoring. She knows who it is, it just takes a minute for her groggy brain to put everything together.  Camilla looks so peaceful with her hair strewn about her face as her breath makes her chest rise and fall gently, so unlike her day to day self.  A smile crosses Corrin’s face before the headache returns to claim it. Her head still hurts but now her world doesn’t seem to be shaking anymore.

  Fuzzy recollections of drinks from the night before flit in her head as she tries to rise from the extremely comfortable bed. The curtain parts at her touch, the light blinding after so much time in the dark.  She’s in Camilla’s room—after whatever happened last night she must have been put to bed by her older sister—and the light of midday filters through the half-curtained windows. She manages to stand after a couple of attempts and, bleary eyed, she shuffles to the washroom to asses the damage.  Raw eyes rimmed in tired bags stare back from the glass mirror, they roll themselves at her. She does her best to make herself presentable and mostly succeeds—not that she can do anything about her eyes like this.

  Her sparse luggage lies around the main room of the suite, unopened but definitely all there.  There is a knock at the door just as she finishes putting on her usual attire and Corrin moves to receive the guest.  Deep crimson pigtails tied up with black ribbon draw the eye down past the face of the person in front of her, a white gambeson under brown leather vest leads to tights and high leather boots.  The visitor coughs impatiently and Corrin snaps her face to meet the one in front of her. Hazel eyes pierce deep like the edge of a rapier in their withering gaze as the woman appraises her. “Who’re you?”  Her voice is curt, to the point and authoritarian just like her demeanor. “I-uh.” Corrin falters “My name’s Corrin, who’re you?” The woman in front of her sniffs and brushes Corrin aside with a flick of her hair.  “Selena, I’m on of Lady Camilla’s retainers.” She comes in to see the mess of last night. 

    “Gawds!  I can’t even!  What IS all this mess?!”

 

  She struts towards the bed and pulls open the curtains.  “Lady Camilla what did you do last night?!” But the bed’s empty.  Frustrated, Selena whips around looking for her liege only for Camilla to appear behind Corrin and give the other princess a hug.  

    “Good morning darling, how did you sleep?  You had quite a lot last night. Hello my darling Selena, I just took my little baby sister out for her first ever night on the town, you  _ do _ remember baby Corrin don’t you?  You met her once when she was little.”

        “Ah.” Selena’s face flies through a multitude of emotions, settling eventually on neutrality.  “I apologize, Lady Corrin, I didn’t recognize you.”

    “No harm done,”  Corrin replies a little bit lost still,  “I’m not at my best right now.” Camilla ruffles her sister’s hair playfully and Corrin takes a quick glance back at her.  Somehow she’s not only looking radiant but fully dressed too despite not making a sound. 

        “Come on now” she smiles “Let’s go see about lunch shall we?”

  The lunch is in a rather small family dining room, nothing official or stately just a nice wooden table with enough seats for everyone who lived in the royal wing.  She finds Elise there, up and chipper like she always is and the three ladies chat over the meal. Corrin learns she has missed her mystery caller yet again—being still unconscious in Camilla’s bed—and she figures she would ask around about the caller after going to apologize to Father.  Elise also mentions that both Leo and Xander have returned and were somewhere about the palace going about their duties—something Corrin is relieved to hear. After the meal Elise insists she take Corrin to see their father right away as she knows he would be free and in the throne room at that moment, it’s the perfect opportunity.

  She follows her little sister as the two weave through the serpentine halls towards their father.  Oddly, Elise was silent for most of the trip—such a radical shift in personality is jarring for Corrin, keeping her silent as well.  The doors behind the audience chamber are grandiose, ashen with gold detail work covering the majority of its surface. Elise strides up to the door before turning to Corrin.

    “All right Corrin, let’s go in there together.  I’ll help as much as possible, this is our Father we’re talking about, he has to forgive you right?”

        Corrin smiles “Thanks Elise. I hope you’re right.”   Her sister puts on a brave face.

    “All right, deep breath, and… here we go.”  She calls out “Father! We, that is Corrin and I, have something we need to talk to you about!”

 

  Everything is silent for a second, until the raspy laugh echoes through the halls from the closed door before them.  Whomever’s inside is laughing—manic, crazed, and with wild abandon. “Father?” Corrin calls, trepidation edging into her voice.  “It sounds like he’s with someone” Elise falters “Maybe we should come back later…” As if on cue the gruff voice interrupts their escape.  “Who’s there?” 

    Elise is first to respond  “Oh! Sorry to bother you Father…”  “Yes” Corrin chimes in “we apologize if this isn’t a good time.”  Garon’s voice is agitated, clear even through the heavy doors. 

        “What do you two want?”  

    Elise moves and nudges her sister “We’re here to apologize, _right_ _Corrin_?”  

        “Yes that’s right”  She adds “I’m sorry for questioning you.”

  There is a pause.  Tensions rise between the two in front of the door as their father seems to contemplate his options.  “You may enter.” The doors open without further prompting to reveal a lavish chamber, wrought iron roots covering everything like ivy, with an even grander throne than in the previous hall.  Atop its dais sits King Garon, head resting upon an idle hand as the other holds his massive obsidian axe, the symbol of his individual power and personal strength. He seems to be the only one there but that might not mean anything considering it is a throne room—secret doors come with the territory.

  The two sisters prostrate themselves low before their father, awaiting judgement.  “Corrin,” he rumbles, “You have disobeyed a direct order from me, ordinarily you would not still be alive.”  Her voice catches briefly in her throat and she gulps before replying “I understand.” Elise’s eyes widen in horror and she jumps up “Father!” She pleads “No, I can explain-”

    “Silence!  As you are my child, Corrin, I will grant you some leeway.  I have something in mind for you, a mission. If you complete this task successfully I will pardon your crime in full.”

        “Really?! What sort of mission?”  Hope alights in both her and Elise’s faces.

    “There is an abandoned fortress perched on the border.  I wish to know if the building there remains serviceable.  You are to travel today to the sight and inspect the premises, no battle will be required.”  He pauses “Do you understand? I will not tolerate being disappointed twice.”   She beams at him 

        “Yes Father, it shall be done.”

 

  Outside the throne room Elise whoops for joy and Corrin breathes a sigh of relief,  _ I can be forgiven. _  “Come on!”  Elise gleams “Let’s go tell the others!”   They find their other siblings close at hand, nervously huddling just out of sight of the imposing doors.  The relief that crosses all three of their faces warms Corrin’s heart—they all dropped what they were doing to make sure she was ok.  Camilla grapples her in a bear hug and nuzzles her face against Corrin

    “Darling are you going to be ok out there?  I don’t like this… “

        “Of course! Please don’t worry, it’s just an abandoned fort.”

    Leo, previously off to the side trying to mask his worry, butts in “You’re acting rather casual about this Corrin.  It isn’t like Father to be so forgiving…”

        “Huh?  What do you mean Leo?”  The scolding finger of Elise interrupts her older brother 

    “Now that’s enough Leo!  Sheesh, don’t be so worried all the time.” She begins to turn away before pushing her furious finger further into Leo’s personal space  “And don’t even  _ try _ to scare Corrin just before her first mission!”  Leo bristles

        “Hey! That’s not necessary.” 

 

  Camilla cuts off all further argument the two bickering siblings could muster with a look.  She turns back to Corrin with only love in her visible eye “I suppose I’ll just have to come along, that way I’ll know she’s safe!”  Out of nowhere however a droll voice replies “I’m afraid that’s not possible.” It’s the menacing man from yesterday, unheard on his silent feet as he reveals himself from behind a pillar.  “Why ever not Iago?” Camilla’s voice is scathing, venomous in its animosity towards the masked and haughty sorcerer.

    “Lady Camilla” He begins “King Garon intends this expedition as a test of sorts.  As his  _ top _ advisor, I have been entrusted with coordinating this mission.  He would like to know if Princess Corrin is worthy—after all, she IS part of the royal lineage.”  He begins to inspect his gloved nails, “Therefore, Lady Camilla, your assistance would simply muddy the results.”  Camilla is about to interject, argue some point she has, but Corrin gets the first word in 

        “Understood.”  She turns to her siblings “I need to do this by myself, surely you understand?”  

 

  “Not all by yourself, Corrin.”  The booming voice of their father makes them jump.  He approaches the gaggle, an odd man with a devilish sneer in toe.  “Rest assured, I do not intend to send you out there completely defenseless.”  The man behind Garon has a face riddled with lines and creases, his bald egg head contrasted by his fuzzy block of chin.  He bows stiffly and, taken with his sneer, in a mocking manner 

    “Milord.”

  Garon grins “This is Hans, a veteran warrior who will ensure no trouble befalls you.”  Corrin curtsies in return “Thank you Father.” Xander, however, is not pleased. He stares at Hans as if the man were some insect he thought he had crushed.  Hans bows and retreats as Iago follows Garon back to his throne room to discuss the war effort. Xander turns to Corrin once they are out of earshot, his face is somber and pained  

    “I would be wary of that man if I were you.  He’s a criminal, a serial murderer and a vicious warrior I arrested years ago.”  He grumbles his admission, as if their father’s deeds were his responsibility. “Father seems to think he is rehabilitated but I see no change in his behavior, be careful.”   All she can do is nod her head

        “I see.”  It seems not all is well between Xander and Father, something more was going on.

 

  The fort she’s to survey is a two day ride from the capital—not far considering the vast territory Nohr holds.  Given little time to prepare all Corrin takes is food made by the kitchen staff, her armor, and her new sword Ganglari.  She tries to look for her maids or her siblings but none of them seem to be around after the final discussion with Father.  She sighs, she had wanted to at least say goodbye to everyone and promise to be back soon,  _ it’s just a simple reconnaissance mission, I won’t be in any danger. _  Her thoughts quivering with the nerves she refuses to show the outside world.

  Hans is outside the royal stables with his own horse already saddled and ready to ride—his sneer seemed to be an ever-present part of his “charm.”  Not one to talk, Hans doesn’t even acknowledge the middle princess as he clambers onto his horse and waits for her to find her own. Finally off and away from the palace they approach the outer gate of the city, however, a familiar, ebon-clad knight comes into view to block their path.  

    “Lady Corrin!  Allow me to accompany you on this fine outing.”  The grizzled veteran appears to be jovial as he imposes himself between his liege and Hans.  Corrin is quick to respond 

        “Of course Gunter!  You’re more than welcome to join us.”  

 

  The only indications of displeasure on Hans’s part are the sour look he shoots the pair and the conspicuous tightening of grip on his axe— _Xander might have been right after all,_ she thinks.  Corrin attempts to strike up conversation with her bodyguard at least once a day but to no avail, he just sneers and grunts before turning away. By the time they arrive at their destination she begins to feel like he has it out for her—Gunter swears Hans watches her sleep too.  The entire trip is filled with unease and bile-forming tension, a good omen for things to come.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just remember kids, the best Dad is the one who will make sure your "real" dad won't try and gank you through one of his cronies cus he's a dick...
> 
>  
> 
> Next Chapter: "Now she's off to the races! Sent into the depths of the Bottomless Canyon betrayal forces her to the precipice—will she perish in the depths or soar above to safety?"


	5. Bottomless Canyon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Our princess has been tasked with a routine assignment, asses the condition of an illegal fort within neutral territory. Before her lies the Bottomless Canyon, foreboding and filled with potential death.   
> Has her father truly told Corrin everything?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we come upon one of the major changes I've made to the world of Fire Emblem Fates, the Astral Planes. I do not personally care for them because, while it's fun to dress up a home base and have a shop only a click away, it completely ruins any sense of narrative tension. "Oh, the world's ending? Let me go into my hyperbolic time chamber and grind for a good week. I'll be just a second." Bleh. Something a little more relevant to the Revelations route than the other two is the trivialization of Lilith, their mascot figure for this game. In Revelations she plays absolutely no role, nothing, despite having serious stakes in the characters and story going on around her. I want to give this story a more realistic feeling of stakes and make Lilith an actually important member of the whole plot and this is where that begins.  
> I'm sorry, fans of cute dragon Lilith, she will not be appearing in this fic.

  The Hoshido-Nohr border consists of two sets of craggy mountains that serve as the outline for the vast network of ravines and canyons making up a neutral zone, their depths so unimaginable the whole area bears the name “Bottomless Canyon.”  It is said that it never stops storming over the Canyon and the darkened skies seemed ample proof of this to Corrin. She expected—hoped really—the fort to be perched on the border but it was not to be, she would have to go into the Canyon proper.  As if he knew all along, Hans doesn’t even pause as he begins the trek up the winding road and out of Nohr. Everything about this makes the hairs on Corrin’s neck stand on end. She grits her teeth and follows her “bodyguard.”

  The way in only proves to Corrin that the whole place is dangerous.  Steep mud paths, dangerous outcroppings, thunder and lightning right over her head—the whole place screams “stay out.”  She couldn’t even see the fort yet and already Corrin wanted nothing else but to turn tail and lie to her father that it was destroyed, anything to not face the dangers ahead.  Hans eyes her, his glare seeming to dare Corrin to turn traitor—as if he wanted her to even—but under his gaze her resolve returns and she presses onwards. At last, the Nohrian border was officially behind them, the Bottomless Canyon gaped at her with its gnarled grin.  

  Even without the doom and gloom Corrin knows she would not have been able to see the Hoshidan border in any detail from her vantage point, the Canyon was that wide.  She searches, looking for any sign of a fort—be it ruins or a silhouette outline in the fog. “There it is.” Hans’s pudgy finger points and Corrin follows it, there is indeed what seems to be a fort partially shrouded in mist. “Let’s turn back, the fort doesn’t look salvageable.”  Corrin’s sense of self-preservation begs her not to step one foot in that maze of abyssal death. 

    “Orders are we asses the damage.  We go in.”

 

  Han’s grisly voice pressures her onwards, he unsheathes his massive axe before proceeding further—almost as if he expects trouble.  Huffing in exacerbation Corrin follows, pulling her sword away from her waist as well, just in case. “Gunter, please wait with the horses while Hans and I asses the damage.”  The elder knight seems to pause, weighing his options, before sighing “Yes, Milady.” The descent into the Canyon is just as treacherous as the way up and Corrin wonders why anyone would build structures anywhere near such certain doom.  Something feels off to the Nohrian princess as Hans guides her even closer. From afar the fort looked charred and abandoned but up close the damage seems purposeful—the tower is painted black and random wood pieces are strewn about but without the infrastructure suffering from it.  Corrin’s keen eyes spot the sentry posted cunningly in the upper woodwork of the building, it’s a trap.

  A bell rings out, harsh and grating, through the stillness.   Corrin turns on her heel “Let’s retreat Hans!” The brute, however, stands still blatantly ignoring her direct order.  The welcoming party runs up the bridge connecting the mountain with the fort, their katanas raised.

    “Halt! Advance no further Nohrian soldiers.  You are in violation of the Treaty of Izumo, retreat now or face the consequences.”  Something about that challenge doesn’t sound right to Corrin

        “Wait!” The memory of old history lessons snaps into her mind  “If we are in violation of the treaty then you are too. Article seven also states that Hoshido is not allowed to build or occupy camps or bases within the Bottomless Canyon.  You seem to be pretty well dug in for anything but a base, don’t you think?” The soldiers pause to mull over the situation before turning towards the princess

    “Fine then, we’ll leave if you leave.  Neither of us should have need to speak of this incident to anyone, yes?”  

 

  Corrin is all too happy to reply  “Fine by me.” Even before she finishes voicing her consent Hans turns to her with a murderous grin plastered onto his face “Who asked your opinion bitch?”  He moves, axe burying into the underside of one of the Hoshidan soldiers then pushing through the dead body to cleave the second one. “I’m here for some FUN!”  Cackling, he begins to charge forwards towards the base. “Fire, FIRE!” Arrows rain down around Corrin as the fort’s soldiers try to kill the madman and his unwitting accomplice.  Taking cover behind a toppled husk of a tree Corrin looks on in horror as Hans makes it across the bridge only to take an arrow to his torso and fall, face first, to the ground.

  She’s pinned down—no escape without the promise of death.  An arrow pierces the rotting wood mere inches from her face and she jumps, falling back with a screech.   _ It’s hopeless _ , her mind spirals,  _ there’s no way out!  I’m going to die here…  _  She hears something above the hail of projectiles, it gets louder and louder as she hunkers behind the decrepit log—a horse’s hoofbeat, coming from the Nohrian border.  Her eyes pull away from the clouded sky towards her path home and she nearly jumps for joy, she’s saved.

    “HEEEY!  Over here!”  She doesn’t need to yell twice.  

 

  Gunter increases his pace as he comes into range.   “Gunter!” She cries “Oh thank the Gods you’re here!”  He takes a moment to reign in his faithful charger, his javelin loosed to arc high into the sky.  The sounds of a dying soldier drifts to them over the wind, cries of anger begin anew from the deceptive tower.  He smiles wryly at his charge “It seems my hunch was right, Hans was most certainly a murderous fool.”  _ Everything’s going to work out _ , she thinks,  _ I can win this as long as Gunter’s here _ .  He hefts another javelin as arrows begin to plink off his plate.  “Take my shield, I’ll need your help on this.” Corrin nods, terror and adrenaline juicing her quivering limbs into action as he flings his heavy metal shield into her hands—they charge.  Hooves rush past her with the clatter of metal on wood—she’s almost there now. Her shield arm’s sore from the impacts, sagging further and further down, it’s a tool she never did much training with—she regrets that negligence now that it matters.

  Rough dirt under her feet—she’s there.  Peek around the rim of her shield and there’s the enemy.  Gunter’s engaged already, pike arcing here and there. One’s charging her, sword raised high to break her in two, he’s almost on her.  Swords clash as she passes his away from her. Her tired shield-arm jabs at his face, taking the metal disc with it. His cry is plaintive, the crunch of nose and the thud of his sword hitting ground telling her it’s worked.  Swift pommel strike to the skull drops the soldier at her feet—he should live.

  Five lie around the great knight, blood splattered around the plates of his legs and of his horse.  He turns to speak but a crack of thunder brings ill news. From the fort a figure jumps, landing square on Gunter’s chest and tackling him from his steed.  The man has a sword—curved and needle sharp—and all she can think, all she can say, is  _ “NO!” _  Feet move in sluggish motion—the sword is already descending.  Screams, her own or the storm churning above her she doesn’t know anymore.   _ Not close enough, not close enough-got to get closer. _  The tip’s almost at Gunter’s neck now, pointed like insults as they cut deep through sinew and bone.

_   Clang! _  It rings out through arms and up necks to resonate with wired brains.  The man’s sword misses the mark, embeds in the dirt so close to the knight’s neck it’s scary.  She’s panting, wild eyes not knowing where to look next after the desperate gambit pays off. Shock registers across the veiled man’s eyes as they turn to asses the new threat.  A free hand snakes out, whips into Corrin’s shoulder with viper speed. Red blossoms from the impact, pain radiating out from the epicenter as blood stains the knife lodged in her body.  She howls, pain and rage brimming until they spill over and into her every action. He moves to pull away, dodges the vengeful hand as it seeks out his body, but new fingers grab his waist.  The assassin is dragged to the dirt—face first in the mud with Gunter’s arms wrapped around the man’s head. There’s a snap, bones broken away from bone in sickening clarity. The soldier stops struggling, gagging on his own air.  Everything stops.

  She retches, now.  Sick again from all the killing and death, it’s too much.  Cold metal hands touch her back and she flinches but the gentle shushing of the old man helps to ground her.  She’s helped up and dusted off, wound tended to and both check for chinks in her armor. She doesn’t see the blood around her—the bodies cut down or speared into the ground—she couldn’t bear it if she did, all she can do is walk where she’s bidden and try not to think at all.  The two begin their trek across the bridge—they make it halfway before trouble rises from the grave. Corrin is a few paces ahead of her protector and so she doesn’t see Hans. From his false grave he rises, trailing his axe through the horse’s hind legs, blood pouring out into the chasm below.  The horse whinnies in agony as its lifeforce gushes out, the valiant charger impacts on the wooden beams splintering them into tiny pieces. Gunter is thrown down, down into the abyss until his screaming voice loses all meaning in the echoes and void. 

  Corrin can’t believe it. _  No, he can’t be gone, can’t have just disappeared from my life like this.  He can’t, he hasn’t. _  She doesn’t even notice the mist veiling her vision nor the beastly roar of anguish that emanates from her dry throat.  All she knows is the man who cared for her, raised her, loved her better than any father could is dead and this cowardly, diseased con-rat is to blame.

  She didn’t see the vile creature before her sneer in the knowledge that soon everyone there would be dead and he was the cause.  She couldn’t hear his mocking words and petty threats as her draconic face turns his way—how his confidence would doom him. She doesn’t think about taking her fist and plunging it into the traitor’s chest like a spear made of chromatic flesh.  Doesn’t choose to lift him up by his gaping wound, roaring in pain and sorrow and rage, only to fling his dying body down to keep her Gunter company in oblivion. She snapped, utterly and completely.

  Hans’s axe catches on the rope, a last gasp of revenge as he falls for eternity.  It rips and tears as bound cords fray then breaks away, the increased tension on the other ancient rope rending it two as well.  She doesn’t notice—her body simply reacts as the bridge collapses on itself, her hands flailing and hooking into the leftovers as it smacks against the cliff wall.  Hand by hand, foot by foot she drags herself towards the surface. She’s almost there, almost free, just a few more pulls of her powerful clawed hands and she’ll be safe.  Hard ground proves sharp resistance to her but it’s there, she’s touching it.

  Corrin feels the cold earth pressing on her face, rain pricking her exposed skin.  The mist is gone, all she knows is she is alive and Gunter is not, every muscle in her body has gone numb.  A black boot indents itself into the grassy mud next to her ear. To be exact, it’s a sandal—black bodysuit down all the way to the toes—the contrast between each are small enough that it looks like a boot to her muzzy brain.  She’s picked up bodily and her worldview expands as she rises. A red tunic contrasted by black and blue with strange arm guards—wicked knives sticking out of them like fins on some metal sea predator. She doesn’t get a look at his face because her captor turns Corrin around and hoists her on their broad shoulder, muscular pecs bumping into her knee.  

  Corrin sees a woman in a similar getup to her captor—just more…  Provocative—inspecting an arrow from off the ground, whatever clues it holds are  beyond Corrin’s mind. Flanking this strange woman are more Hoshidans, naginatas held at attention and glares focused.  Panic winds through her tired mind but she can’t move, she can’t fight either her captors or the torpor dragging her to the dream realm—there’s nothing she can do.  All that’s left to her is… 

    Sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a short poll for everyone this time:  
> -What should Corrin's "secondary" class be? DLC classes are included.
> 
> Next Chapter: "She has become a stranger in a land everyone there feels that she should not be a stranger in. She finally meets someone who claims to be her 'mother' but why does Corrin feel like she knows the woman? What even is the meaning of 'true' family?"


	6. Hoshido

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yet again, her dreams are plagued by sinister foreshadowing. Where have her captors, the Hoshidans, taken her? The princess's world is challenged as she is taken deep into 'enemy' territory.
> 
> Does Corrin understand who her 'real' family is?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we have come to Hoshido I think now is the time to touch on the Hoshidans themselves. Players get to spend the most time interacting with the crew from Hoshido in the Birthright route which I will fully disclose is my least favorite of the three. What I love about the concept of FE: Fates is the ability to look at a conflict from both perspectives, to gain a more rounded and holistic understanding of the reasons why each side fights. Hoshido... Hoshido is depicted as the "Lawful Good Paladin" of this fight—they never asked for this and almost every single Nohrian is corrupted by Garon. All of this completely disregards the Conquest route where we get to see the more human side of Nohr while also driving the point home that even good people can do bad things because they're forced to. That ultimately Garon is the one at fault, rather than the whole nation, even if Corrin and many others are complicit in his atrocities. I never felt any of that depth in Birthright, so I've decided to add it in! I hope the changes are welcome ones, they're not going to be revised after all.
> 
> This chapter has instances of graphic depictions of the horrors of war including blood and violence. "Viewer caution is advised."

  Again, haunting every moment of rest.  Corrin experiences the dream again, even unconscious it comes to her unbidden.  It begins, this time, by falling through an ocean of green-blue sky towards bottomless pits.  Someone is with her, just out of sight, falling into the darkened abyss. She feels the body press against hers, feminine curves and supple arms wrapped lovingly around her monstrous frame, but all she sees is the rushing dark coming to bring her home.  She falls into it, arms and wings flailing futility in the murk to prevent it.

  She’s in a field, plains of verdant green flecked with subtle tints of rich soil.  Noise deafens everything—pain, suffering, elation, tears, screams, all is lost in cacophony.  Flecks of red running into tributaries sully the pristine, romantic beauty as jagged pillars impale themselves deep into the roots of the world—now only fit for carrion to perch upon.  What looked to her like a “proper” battle in previous dreams now appears as a hellish mish-mash of colors, smells and sounds pressing closer around her to drown out all sense and reality.

    “Come on Corrin!  We’ve got work to do.”

 

  Silk and sweet flows over the chaos, somehow out of character to Corrin’s ears.  She can’t turn to look because the brute in front of her gets the first hit in, cuts up her unprepared torso and sprinkles moments of her life onto the grass below.   It hurts—like every combat practice ever inflicted upon her—but she’s used to all this and more by now. Suddenly, magic boils the man from the inside out, necrotic tendrils writhing in and out of his skin like maggots in rotten food.  The man is wailing on the ground; writhing, convulsing with the wiggling motion of the abyssal worms eating his body.

    “Corrin, what’s the matter with you?  You seem distracted… If you’re worried, don’t be.  All your siblings are here with you, the Hoshidan filth don’t stand a chance!”

 

  Her older sister's voice is kind, motherly, with a familiar quality that Corrin can’t quite place.  Before she can dwell on it her vision zooms and focuses in on actions far off, now made crystal clear.  Her eldest brother, stern and tough and proud in his Onyx-black plate atop his armored mare, the deadly sword Siegfried pointed towards his opponent. His eternal adversary, boiled red plate with the sacred katana sparking, his guard high to protect himself from Xander’s powerful swing.   _Xander never used to look this solemn_.  She knows—as if dredging up a far-off recollection from the waters of time—such pain and sorrow seem to have, for so long, been permanent fixtures of his proud face that they belong there more than any joy ever will again.

  It hurts every time.  Recollections of “what ifs” and “could have beens” pound through the veins in her skull.  Corrin’s mind teeters on the edge of collapse, tears stain her face.  Anything more and she will shatter into a million stain glass shards that fracture upon impact with reality.  The two eldest nobles are shouting at each other, their sonorous, regal tenors ringing across the tomb of noise and color directly into her overworked ears.

    “I demand to know what you Nohrian dogs are doing invading Hoshido!  Was that cowardly attack on my people your doing as well Princeling?”  The Crown Prince of Nohr rises to the challenge, taking a somber pause before speaking in tones of ice and snow.

        “I have nothing to say to you…  Surrender now. If you refuse… you die here.”

 

  The scene shifts back to her own body—seen as if by a flying bird or a chessmaster wielding her like a piece on his divine gameboard.  This was nothing now, the death and blood soaking into the soil made her retch and gag far more than any disconcerting perspective could.  The assassin is doomed to appear, she would have to cut down yet another person without hesitation or mercy and the thought makes her shiver.  It scares her, scares her more than anything in the world now, nobody warned her how terrible taking a life feels.

  She wasn’t ready when the assassin got there, in fact, her assailant managed to throw a pointed star and lodge it in the crook of her shoulder.  She hits the ground with the thud Corrin associates with her assassin’s death but now the thud was hers alone. Another blast of magic, roots of a mythical tree snapping and grabbing out of the ground to pull her aggressor down to their eternal torture, screaming all the way.  Before she can speak light soothes Corrin and raises her from the dirt without any input from her body, her head moves without consent towards her eldest sister. She is composed, no hint of strain from fighting off other fliers or wreaking havoc on mages and soldiers alike.

    “No time to talk!  Let’s see how Xander is doing.”

 

  The lilac haired princess urges her undead mount on, on into the fray as Corrin is forced to follow—forced to witness even more gut-wrenching destruction.  She stops two dozen paces from the burly Crown Princes, locked in what amounts to a staring contest with sharp, pointed sticks. “Xander, are you alright?”

    “I’ll be fine.  I’m glad to see you’re all safe, enemy reinforcements are headed this way.  I want you to get rid of them. Corrin, I’m counting on you to keep Camilla and the others safe.”  

_This isn’t how it’s supposed to go._

        The lobster prince calls out “Corrin!  Thank heavens we found you, and that you’re alive and well.  Quickly, come join us! Your family has come to take you home.”

    “Quiet, Hoshidan filth!  Corrin is my sister and a princess of Nohr!”  Xander snaps.

_Could everyone calm down?_

 

  “On the contrary, Corrin is my sister and a princess of Hoshido!”  The boiled-lobster prince retorts. His siblings move to back him up.

    “Corrin!  I was so worried about you.  Don’t ever wander away from me again!” The red haired pegasus knight cries.

  _You’re not…_

        “I’m glad you’re ok, Corrin.  You have the devil’s own luck!”  The silver ponytailed archer sighs in relief.  

_Who are you?_

              “Yaaaaay!  We got our sister back!”  The shy, rose haired priestess cries in joy.  

_Why aren’t you her?_

    “Quiet Hoshidan scum!”  her elder sister spits “First you kidnap her, then you lie to her?!  Corrin is MY sister, not yours!”

_This isn’t right..._

        “You are mistaken” the sky knight counters “Corrin is my sweet little sister.  You may not have her.”

_Stop, please stop!_

 

  “Don’t be fooled by their words.”  Her eldest brother cautions “You belong with your true family in Nohr!”  Everyone is shouting now, overlapping insults, pleas and entreaties—denunciation upon denunciations upon denunciations!

    “Come home to Nohr, Corrin!”  

_Why are you yelling?_

        “No, Corrin!  Hoshido is your home!”

_No…  No, NO._

 

  “NO!”  She cries out to the cold terror, the frozen fear sticking to her skin, and the clammy angst that rises and shivers up her spine until it shakes her rough, tangled hair.  Arms move to tousle her uneven locks and shake away the nightmare, she hears the clink of iron grating on iron as fingers reach between strands of shimmering cream hair. _Shackles_ , her panic-alert mind realizes.   _I’m shackled to the wall_ .  The paper barrier opposite Corrin slides open and someone steps in, someone Corrin knows from another waking nightmare, _oh Gods_.  Rinkah, the Flame Tribe’s most important scion, scowls down at her captive with tangible hatred.

    “You’re awake.”

 

  Corrin cringes.  Memories of her life flooding back to her with all the clarity of the morning dew under a magnifying glass—all her terrible deeds laid naked and ashamed before her.  “Rinkah I…”

 _What can I say?  I didn’t mean to kill him?  My hand was possessed by the sword my father gave me?  Would anyone believe me, do I even believe myself?_  

 

    The imposing woman strides towards her captive, arms bunched and tense as she carries a bowl of steaming something.  “Here.” Is all she utters, thrusting the bowl towards the chained wrists, suddenly gone slack. It’s soup of some kind, no spoon, and the consistency seems to be that of porridge but with a murky snow color.

  “Where am I?” Corrin asks, the piping hot food pricking her skin through the chipped porcelain bowl.  “A village, Hoshido.” Rinkah hates her, on some primal level she registers this which only serves to twist the guilt even deeper into its already gaping wound.  How this woman escaped boggles Corrin’s mind—she was sent to the infamous dungeons of Castle Krakenburg after all, a place she believed inescapable until now. Rinkah seems to be waiting, staring with that intensity she brought into the room.  “I suppose they’ll come arrest me, the Hoshidans I mean.” Corrin’s voice tries its hardest to stay resolute “They’ll execute me for all this.” She drags her eyes to her feet, everything she trained so hard for now ruined, meaningless in death.

  Rinkah only continues to stare, betraying no emotion with her stoic, thousand mile stare—there’s a knock off in the distance.  “Time to go.” The white-haired warrior grunts before moving to unhook the manacles from the wall post they were attached to. Her grip on them is firm and practiced, no avenue for escape presents itself to Corrin as she is led out and towards the door to the outside.  Sun reflects off the perfect winter landscape. For what must be miles the land is only snow, rocks, and slumbering trees. In front of the door is another familiar face, the green haired ninja she was told to kill, Kaze. He kneels before her “I am glad we found you Princess Corrin.”  She’s taken aback. Such reverence for a prisoner, even a royal one, was nigh unheard of in Nohrian society and what little she knew of Hoshidan culture spoke of the same treatment.

  To have this ninja kneel before her—one she was ordered to kill no less—is unsettling.  

    “I…”  She falters “You are?  Am-am I missing something?”

        The ninja does not even move his head “Please come with me, all will be explained.”  

 

  The Nohrian princess snorts “Do I look like I have a choice?”  gesturing towards her captive wrists and the long leash. The ninja’s gaze hardens, directing his ire at the warrior holding Corrin’s leash.  

    “Was this necessary Rinkah?  You know why it is I must bring the Princess.”  Rinkah scoffs, sending the red plumes on her headdress fluttering

        “And let her sneak away in the night?  I don’t think so.”

              “I’m sorry,”  Corrin interjects, “why do I need to go with you and where are you taking me?  I ought to know, especially if you’re going to kill me as an example of what you’ll do to Nohr after we broke the Treaty of Izumo.”  Kaze recoils as if slapped

    “Princess!  We would never do such a thing, that’s abominable.  I am not the best person to explain this, it’s best if you hear it properly.”  He stands “Will you come and hear us out?” She’s unsure, pretty lip snagged beneath a pointed canine as she weighs her options

              “Very well…  I’ll trust you on this.”

 

  The journey down the mountain is rather slow, even for a party of three.   The slope is steep—the path winding and circuitous, maybe even misleading. By the time green begins to peep out over the shining desolation Corrin is exhausted, having to walk for so long with only Hoshidan porridge for food destroys the princess.  At the border of snow and grass she breaks out into fits of glee—the place is greener than anywhere she had seen in her life. She can’t help herself and dashes off into the rolling hills, flopping into one and rolling down another before either the ninja or warrior can catch her.

  Much to Corrin’s delight, the wonders of Hoshido did not stop after this one mountain, as she is taken to who knows where the captive noble comes across landscapes that blow her mind.  Forests of vibrant colors only imaginable in the Nohrian colonies, animals she never even knew existed frolicking gayly amidst the bounty—the sounds of growth and renewal filling the otherwise empty air.  Distant rice paddies with tiny workers and small wooden villages that she is forced to skirt, the ninja disregarding her pleas to explore with expert tact. The trio sleeps in the open, away from civilization and the possibility of being lost amongst a crowd, the faint sparkle of ancient, foreign stories peeking through the canopy to entice her.  Corrin doesn’t mind, she doesn’t have any memories of a time outside the Northern Fortress, this is bliss in comparison to the stuffy, chilly stone of her home. Soon—far too soon for her liking—she arrives at her destination.

  Buildings dot the land around a monolithic wall, everything in vibrant reds, blues, yellows and greens—all manner of colors brighten up the view until it is blinding.  She is led by Kaze and Rinkah towards the imposing wall, passing by placid farmland and chattering people going about their daily business. It is idyllic, scenic, and proves to be as much a sensory overload to Corrin as her own capital had been.  Past the gate guards and portcullises, the trio moves with purpose into the city proper. The whole place is unmitigated chaos.

  She understands, logically, that she is being escorted—dragged really—towards the mountain at the heart of the teaming city-state, but only after acclimating a little can she truly process her surroundings.  The capital of Hoshido is massive, diverse, and layered on top of each and every available space possible. Tiled roofs falling onto and intersect with each others to create sections of canopy that block all sunlight save for the slightest slivers.  Other sections are covered in vibrant plants make gardens that increasingly rival the previous rooftop gardens.

  Despite all this massive stratification, space seems to be at a premium.  Most buildings have at least one copy of the building built atop it, some rock and sway in the wind.  There isn’t any room amongst the incomprehensible urban sprawl and no matter where Corrin turns something is moving—every street is packed far past any possibility of order or stable traffic.  Handcarts, person-drawn carriages and odd, two wheeled personal vehicles all vie with the foot traffic to create the loudest din Corrin has ever experienced. If this is what her books call “claustrophobia” then she can understand the immense fear of it.  Each sensory outlet on her body is overwhelmed and shuts down all at the same time, it’s too much. Time becomes relative to Corrin as she is guided by the hand through the streets and alleyways towards her ultimate goal.

  When she finally becomes aware again Corrin thinks to herself, _this is gorgeous!_  A square, ringed only by single tier buildings at the base of a great pillar of land rising into the low-hanging clouds.  In the center of the square is a group of statues, the outer four Corrin assumes to be significant directions while the central one is a large, familiar dragon.  The pristine statue is marble white and curled around a marble orb in the same pose as Dusk Dragon in Windmire—the pieces fall into place, _this must be the Dusk Dragon’s counterpart and rival, the Dawn Dragon._ Past what must be the center of the vast metropolis Corrin is marched further and further up the mountain, the air thinning a little as she ascends.  When she reaches the summit the princess is dumbstruck, before her is the prettiest castle ever imaginable. Great pools of water cascade into one another at the base of the complex, the central tower stands tall and proud far above anything in sight and additional buildings crop up around it like hills aspiring to be mountains.

  Corrin’s chance to soak everything in is cut short as Rinkah pulls her forward with a crushing grip, something even the unusually strong princess is unable to resist.  Soon, Corrin finds herself at the great doors that creak wide to usher her within the imposing spire, past atriums and hallways and doors—so many doors—she is brought before the a truly wondrous throne.  King Garon’s personal throne had been well sized but this, this was room-filling. Atop the gigantic slab of opulence a figure seems to turn and notice the trio as they enter the audience chamber. Corrin’s captors seem to wait for someone, keeping Corrin close to the massive doors alongside them, her nerves make the hairs on her neck stiff and attentive to danger.  Just then, as the figure on the throne begins to descend, a hulking armored figure takes up the majority of Corrin’s worldview.

  The man who blocks her path has his arms crossed over his crimson armor—each plate fitted together like perfectly sanded stones in an intricate mural.  The ninja drops to one knee, letting the towering man speaks.

    “Welcome back Kaze.  You have completed your task admirably.”  The giant’s nodding head emphasizing his words.  

        “Thank you Lord Ryoma.”  

 

  The name tugs at strands of Corrin’s memory, recollections of dreams and overheard conversations, but it also pulls at something much deeper than any of that.  “Did you just say Lord Ryoma?” She carelessly blurts out her inner thoughts, mentally slapping herself as they finish exiting her mouth. The Fire Tribe warrior flashes a toothy, malicious grin “Yeah, this is the high prince of Hoshido, Ryoma.”  Pieces shuffle in Corrin’s mind, making less and less sense by the second.

    “I…  Understand.”  She sighs in resignation, prompting a questioning grumble from the imposing prince.  “Well, get on with it then. If you’re going to execute me I would prefer it if you don’t drag it out…”

 

  A gasp comes from behind Ryoma and he steps aside for an older woman, regally radiant in a white and aqua garb.  She is the epitome of royalty—her bearing speaks of years governing and her glittering eyes warn of clever insight while her raiment dazzles and blinds those less than her.  Even her crown, a representation of the sun, is as magnificent as a crown could be. To Corrin it’s as if the radiance of the sun itself had descended off her throne and now stands before her captive, her gentle face adorned with a single dimple below her lip.  “Can it be?” She trembles as her questioning eyes look Corrin up and down “It cannot really be you…”

  Corrin doesn’t quite understand what this resplendent woman is talking about but something tugs on her chest when the woman—obviously the Queen—speaks.  Corrin tries to meet the royal woman’s gaze “I’m sorry, but do we know each other?” More tugs at her heart, each word pulling harder than the last. The woman gasps and begins to tear up, her brown eyes staring straight into Corrin’s.

    “Oh my child, my darling Corrin, I’ve missed you so!”  With surprising strength the Queen of Hoshido pulls Corrin into a debilitating hug, one she only halfheartedly tries to recoil from.  

        “Child?  Darling?!  I’m sorry, what are you talking about!?  That’s not possible…” The woman hugs her tighter

    “Oh my sweet child, it’s such a sad story.  When you were very young you were abducted by Nohr, stolen away to a place we could never find.  I am your mother, Mikoto. Oh how I wanted to see you all this time!” She begins to sob into Corrin’s shoulder.

        “But-but King Garon is my father!  None of this makes sense!” The crimson prince nods his head

              “I assure you, she speaks nothing but the truth.  I am your older brother, Ryoma.” Corrin rears back

        “No no no no.  Xander is my older brother! Elise and Camilla and Leo are my siblings…”  Mikoto hugs her tighter at this. Ryoma spits

              “Their royal family?  They are not your real family.  I still remember the day when you were taken…  In those days there was tension between the two nations but not outright war.  That is, until the bastard Garon lured our father, King Sumeragi, to a supposed ‘peace talk’ in Cheve and had him killed and you taken.  That was the day he began his campaign of terror across our lands in earnest.”  Corrin collapses in Mikoto’s arms

        “No… That can't be...  That’s not possible…”

    “You really don’t remember anything?”  Mikoto is outright pleading. “Not even a single memory?”  Corrin begins to shake her head, _had it always pounded this much?_

        “No…”  She sighs “Honestly, I have no memories of anything before the age of seven.  Apparently I hit my head, or so Xander tells me, while playing outside my tower in the Northern Fortress.  My mind’s a complete blank.”

 

  Mikoto pulls her hands away from Corrin’s torso, holding her face between them as she peers into the young princess’s eyes, so close and enveloping.  Pain begins to make itself known in the conflicted noble’s mind. She thinks and thinks, tries to reach back for the sake of this woman who claims so heartfeltly that she was-is her mother.  Something—similar to the feeling of running into a wall—stops Corrin as she tries to actively recall the memories she has forgotten, some invisible barrier separating the her that is now and that part of her from back then.

    “There are these times.”  Corrin splutters “I can sense… something, something beneath the surface of my mind.  Blurry images, memories I suppose, like a stone at the bottom of a lake, shimmering and ethereal.  I never thought much of it but now… Recently I’ve not been so sure.”

        Ryoma huffs “Well I can’t imagine the Nohrian nobles sharing much of your past with you.  I’m sorry this is so hard for you, it must be a lot to take in but at least you are home.”

 

  The room Corrin is taken to is octagonal, darkly lit, with only the sun peeping through the shuttered window.  Unfamiliar children’s toys and books lie, neglected, amongst the room—the bed is small, pint sized even. Hand-drawn pictures frame a child sized spot in one portion of the room, a favorite drawing corner perhaps.  Corrin drops to her knees to inspect one—three stick figures, one with black hair like Mikoto, another with black hair but almost exactly like Ryoma’s, and another with squiggly blue in an approximation of tousled and curly hair.  “Is this…?”

    “Oh!  That’s a picture you drew when you were around three years old.  It’s of you, myself and my husband—your father. You were so cute!  We… I couldn’t bear to touch a thing in this room after you were taken, it would feel too much like giving up and I couldn’t bear to even think of that.”  Queen Mikoto’s giggle is musical, like the bells of some fae choir that resonates with Corrin’s soul “Now that you’ve grown up so much I can barely believe how gorgeous you are, just look at your hair!”  She pinches Corrin’s cheek affectionately, like Camilla always would when she said how cute Corrin was. “What terrible things did they do to those precious locks of yours?! You were so insistent you would never have it cut and now…”

 

  The desire to groan and say “Moooom” rises in Corrin’s throat but she clamps it down, the princess feels too conflicted to say anything without considering it first.

    “I-My older brother and I were training.  He missed me but ended up getting the side of my head, hence the scar and lack of hair.”  She runs a hand over the prickly stubble and the jagged scar underneath. “I guess I just wanted to make it look a bit more intentional than having only one side down to my waist.”  She flashes a shy smile, _why am I so comfortable here, with her?_ Mikoto’s face suddenly radiates that motherly concern Corrin grew up seeing on Camilla as she, too, runs a hand over the scar.

        “What kind of training could they possibly…?  Never mind, you’re here and that’s all that matters.”  She beams a smile right into Corrin’s eyes and it’s so sincere it hurts.

    “I”  Corrin falters, every word like a condemnation and damnation both “I just don’t know how to respond to… all this.  I do believe that I could be your child but” _Deep breaths, I don’t have to continue._  “Everyone here simply feels like a stranger to me, I can’t make sense of anything, I’m torn.”  Mikoto’s eyes falter.  Doubt, indecision—panic even—seem to cross her pretty hazel orbs.  

        “I understand Corrin. Please, don’t worry about it.” The pause is audible, poignant even.  Something wet stains Corrin’s cheeks.

_How could I do this_ _, to_ _HER of all people?_

    “I’m sooooo sorry!”  Sobs shake Corrin’s chest  “Here you are, maybe my real mother, and I can’t remember anything…”  The pain in her head is the worst it had been since _…  since…_

        “Please, it makes sense.  You spent your childhood in Nohr, I’m sure you were quite sheltered.”  Truth bites both their hearts “If you need, in fact I can see you need, time to think all this through.  Take it. All I hope for is that someday we can all be a family again.” Her carefully sculpted face of neutrality betrays the deep pain beneath it.  “For now, please make yourself comfortable. Explore the castle or stroll the grounds outside, you are safe here under my care. This will still be your room for as long as you wish it.”

    “I…  Thank you.”

 

  Queen Mikoto’s smile is like the reflection of the sun from behind a cloudy sky.  “Of course Corrin, it’s what any mother would do given the circumstances.”

 

  Corrin existence is in turmoil.  She feels this connection to the Queen, something inexplicable and from deep, deep in her bones _but is it because she is my mother or is she simply harping on my bond with Camilla?_  Corrin wonders whether the Hoshidans would use trickery to try and turn her against her real family, to use her to gain information or have her spy on her siblings because they weren’t her “real” family.   _Am I simply being paranoid and jumping at shadows?_  The Hoshidan royals hadn’t, so far, seemed like they would do such a thing, _maybe I’m simply not giving them the benefit of the doubt_ , she thinks. Questions and arguments wage bitter wars across Corrin’s mind as she paces inside the room that is, apparently, her childhood home.  It’s stuffy, she can’t take it, she has to go somewhere else—somewhere not filled with assumed nostalgia—and clear her head.

  The halls of the castle, too, are filled with personal indecision.  Faces the princess doesn’t recognize haunt her every step, even a casual glance her way feels like a condemnation to Corrin.  Lost, she manages to escape into the grounds and find herself in yet another scene change. Beautiful trees, heavy with shades of pink, rustle in the gentle wind seeping over the outer walls, as if one of the paintings in her tower sprang to life and followed her over to Hoshido—everything is almost too vibrant to process.

  Seeking solitude she runs into the woods, away from the obvious marks of civilization, in the hopes of finding the serenity she longs for.  Something blue catches her eye and, in a spur of the moment decision, Corrin runs towards it—her life irrevocably changed. What the distraught princess finds is a clearing, the ground turning to sand the closer it gets to the mother of all lakes.  It seems to be used as a swimming area or perhaps for fishing, judging by the pier jutting a little ways into it. She nearly makes it into the clearing but her bare feet slow as she spots a bright star walking down the jetty towards the water.

  Corrin stops dead in her tracks, unwilling to bear her problems to yet another stranger much less interact with one.  She haltingly begins to flee but something worms its way into her ears, she hears the other person sing. The woman striding down the pier lulls the most beautiful, haunting tune the princess’s ears have heard.  It speaks of epics, battles fought and dragon-gods defeated by a daring heroine and her band of adventurers seeking to right the wrongs and injustices of the dying world, it is enchanting. The melody pulls at the very fabric of Corrin’s being, rooting her to the spot, such is the power of the singer’s lilting stanzas.  Even the water understands this for as she sings a chime seems to ring out, stilling the waters with a single ripple and turning it into a perfect mirror for the sky to gaze upon.

  The singer turns, water-colored hair flowing with the graceful motion of the head to look directly at Corrin, she has been discovered.  The two—songstress and princess both—stand stock still as they lock gazes, tension palpable in the air. “Er, hello, sorry to bother you I just got lost in your singing.”   _Whose voice was that?_ Corrin thinks until realizing it was her own.  Her voice carries on

    “Something about that song just captivated me. I guess… it calmed me somehow?  I-I just want to say thank you… For that.”

 

  The woman seems to peer more before striding towards Corrin, her white dress rippling with the sway of her hips and the tousle of her hair.  Before Corrin could even begin to back off or ward the woman away she’s upon her. “You must be Princess Corrin, no?”

    “Yes”  Corrin wonders how everyone knows her while she doesn’t know anyone  “How did you know?”

        The woman lowers her gold-coin eyes “I am Azura, former Princess of Nohr.”  Corrin’s eyes grow wide in shock

    “Former?  I don’t understand.  If that were true I would have heard of you, our siblings would have talked about you…”  The fluid woman sighs

        “I am afraid I have been here a long time and, knowing the Nohrian royal family, they would not want to make each other sad by remembering.  After you were taken the Hoshidan forces tried to rescue you, only to be foiled again and again. Eventually they gave up and went for a much less defended target…  Me.”

 _How have I never heard about this?_   _Camilla must have been devastated, not to mention the boys or Elise..._

    “Gods… I’m so sorry.” is all that escapes Corrin’s lips, she desperately fights to not break out into tears.

        Azura shakes her head “Do not be.  I may technically still be a hostage, but I have lived a happy life.  The royal family of Hoshido has accepted me as one of their own, even Queen Mikoto treats me as if I were her own daughter.”

 

  Hearing this—that Queen Mikoto was just as kind and caring to others—somehow spikes an arc of acid from Corrin’s gut to her chest.  Obviously something about her showed it because the golden eyed princess asks “Did something happen between you and the Queen?” A hard question to be asked by a complete, if suddenly relatable, stranger and an even harder answer for Corrin to articulate.  “I…” Corrin falters, unsure of what to say and how to phrase it.

    “No?  I just… I don’t know what to do.  Queen Mikoto is perfectly lovely, she reminds me of Camilla actually, but I don’t know if what I feel about her is because she’s my mother or if she just reminds me of the person who took my mother’s place…  On top of that my head hurts and I can’t remember anything before the age of seven which now scares me and things don’t add up anymore and I just don’t know what to do or who to believe!” She’s crying now, tears rolling down her cheeks like rain on a window.  Azura places tentative hands on the princess’s shoulders

        “I can understand.  All of this must be so confusing for you, I wish I could help ease your pain.  If it helps, I am willing to tell you of my experiences here, to give you some context from someone who can understand your position better than our siblings can.”  Her voice is lyrical and soothing, evoking a sense of calm and serenity across the tumultuous storm raging in Corrin’s heart.

    The troubled princess wipes her eyes with the back of her hand “Thanks Azura, that would really help.  I just… There’s a lot going on, all of this is so sudden. I’d love your help.” Her lips move into a smile, her own sun peeking out from behind the clouds.

        “Very well then, let us go into town and take in some of the sights.  Perhaps a stroll and some refreshment will help you as well, I know of just the place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No questions, Your Honor. The author rests her case.
> 
>  
> 
> Next Chapter: "Another choice, dear reader. Do you follow Azura down into the bustle of the town or wait atop the mountaintop to see what new revelation will rock Corrin's world. I think I'm due for a nice, sunny break out on the town..."


	7. Interlude 2: A Day on the Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "An Interlude, a needed distraction, from the world made incomprehensible by deceit and eldritch secrets sung by a tainted maiden thrown into the whirlpool of Fate. Where will the mysterious blue-haired woman, Azura, lead her to? What revelations could possibly be found in a cup of liquid beauty?
> 
> Two princesses grow closer than either would have gambled on."
> 
> An optional path, made to cast shadow on those basking in light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh Depression, you make writing anything coherent or meaningful a challenge...  
> Not to say the pace of the work will be slowing down mind, just that my intros and outros may take some time in materializing depending on how much I am currently wrapped up in the fuzzy blanket of "Nope."  
> It has Dinosaurs on it.
> 
>  
> 
> We never get much of anything about the capital of Hoshido; textually it's simply called "Shirasagi Castle Town" which is a downright uninventive name for any town, big or small, and less so a capital of a powerful country. I considered changing it but considering how I have absolutely zero knowledge of the Japanese language and don't want to risk coming off as an insensitive prick after doing my two days worth of research I decided to let it be... Wah. As for why the "town" has been transformed into a megacity-state closer resembling a fever dream than any kind of reality, I wanted to give the Hoshidans reason to think life sucks. Seriously, if it wasn't for the odd Faceless attack the people of Hoshido would live a perfect, ideal life; that ain't good for business! Warmongering doesn't come from good intentions after all, it comes from a need or a desire for something—land in this case. My feel of the city itself is that it's reminiscent of NYC; the kind of place that makes outsiders' heads spin and locals acquire a very multi-cultural flavor, a "melting pot." I'll also give a half-hearted apology for the history dump, I tried to make it as palatable as possible while spelling out one of the causes for the whole war. I think it worked but hey, I'm the kind of girl who finds lengthy, scholarly books about the logistics behind D-Day or the socio-political intricacies of Renaissance-era Italy to be griping.
> 
> While I fully plan to delve deeper into different aspects of Shirasagi Castle Town the main work will, sadly, not be that place because the plot pushes our protagonist away from both Nohrian and Hoshidan capitals—each become too dangerous after Chapter 11 (Chapter 6 in the game).

  On her way down to the metropolis below, Corrin learns much of the history of the sprawl—at least the official version of it—from her guide.  Having been established around the ancient Shirasagi Castle, the gigantic city-state actually once was a town in both name and reality more than a century and a half ago.  The rise of the modern Hoshidan state mirrored the expansion of the city, rising to prominence a little over eighty winters ago on the backs of its trading and diplomatic prowess.  Now, the vast network of haphazard districts bleeding into each other collectively bears the name “Shirasagi Castle Town" despite the sprawl being far, far bigger than any town ever conceived or constructed; it’s at least three times bigger than Nohr’s capital of Windmire, including its vast Undercity.  Hoshido itself is not a big country, one could traverse its main chunk of territory within a day by horse, but as Azura retells the story of Hoshido Corrin realizes that what it lacks in geographic size it makes up for in prosperity.

  In eons past, when the Gods walked among mortals, the Dawn Dragon had bestowed its blessing across the land.  Nowadays, the blessing has eroded—especially in Nohr's chilly environment—so the land Hoshido staked became one of the few, carefully cultivated fertile lands left.  In fact, Azura tells her, this is what initially led to the enmity between Nohr and Hoshido centuries ago.  Nohr had used up what nature they had building an empire and because the Hoshidan people had such bountiful farmland and food, this inevitably led to the then-starving people of Nohr to invade en masse.  Corrin had studied a great many books—many of them about the continent's history—but hearing Azura speak, the textual biases become clear to her eyes.  It dawns on Corrin just how small her world was locked away in that suddenly, maddeningly, lonely tower.

 

  As Azura guides Corrin around and out of another dimly lit bazaar the princess discovers what her friend wanted to show her.  A café, its patio neighboring one of the few remaining surface parks within the city, with very Nohrian writing on the very Nohrian looking sign.  Corrin cocks her head in puzzlement

 _Why is there an openly Nohrian café in the heart of enemy territory?  Wouldn’t the authorities tear it down for being a potential safehouse for spies if they knew?  How does Azura know of this place?_  

  The sign proclaims it to be “Callahan’s Café” with an image of a stein painted beautifully on the ancient-looking wood, a walking stick at an angle through the handle like an odd coat of arms.  “Azura, what is this?”  The former Nohrian princess giggles before responding

    “It is a teahouse, Corrin.  I think it would be best if I just showed you, come along.”

 

  Warm, pleasant vibes draw Corrin into the cramped-feeling space; the place is alight with such a susurrus of conversation that it makes her ears tingle.  A diverse crowd of people await the wide-eyed princess, their clothing so exotic Corrin can’t pinpoint where most come from.  Everyone is laughing and talking as they drink a variety of refreshments: piping hot Hoshidan teas, beer so dark it could only be Nohrian, Wines of all shades, tiny saucers that remind her of a drink Leo called "Nestran Black" and all manner of coffees and strange beverages Corrin never even knew existed.  The room is jarring; many of the people, languages, and foods are completely unknown to Corrin and her tower’s comfortable library.

    “Welcome to Callahan’s, Corrin.  This is an establishment where those of us who feel homesick, or simply looking for something not found elsewhere, frequent.”  She gives her compatriot a sly, conspiratorial smile “I usually come for the coffee.”

 

  A rather portly old man with a peculiar, rolling gait—his most defining feature the majestic silver mustache curling across his upper lip—looks up from his post behind the half-moon central counter.  He gestures at the two ladies before waddling over to an odd machine that he begins to fiddle with.  Azura, meanwhile, leads Corrin to a small, vacant table looking out on the bountiful park.  Before realizing what she is doing, Corrin pulls the other chair out for Azura to sit in; her new friend fails to hide her cute giggle behind a slender hand.  As Corrin settles herself in the proprietor arrives, placing a small saucer of steaming coffee before the azure haired songstress.  “Know what ye after, messere?” Corrin has to take a moment to register that the man is, in fact, speaking to her rather than some mysterious entity named “Messere.”

    “Ummmm…”  Her hesitation is the kind that orders for itself rather than for her.

 

  The proprietor smiles and pulls a pocket-sized triptych and proffers it to the lost woman  “Beruka’ll be ‘round once you’re ready, messere, take yer time.” The man vanishes with the professional grace of a legendary ninja.

    “How did he-”  

        “Who knows?”  Is all Azura offers as she sips on her hot coffee.

 

  The menu is crammed full of so many different choices that Corrin finds herself at a loss.  Nohrian black-beer has never appealed to her and she’d never had Hoshidan green tea but these are but the surface of the cornucopia of choices before the floundering princess.  Drinks and foods from places she has never heard of—Yilissan Cremé or Zofian Bitterwine for instance—she has no reference point to make an informed decision.  Ruby discs wide and pleading, she begs her new friend  “Is there something you would recommend?”  The other princess considers the possibilities, her finger tapping her delicate chin.  

    “Well, the black tea is not a terrible place to start.”

        “WHICH ONE?!?!”

 

  It takes Corrin ten minutes, and a great deal of headaches, to finally arrive at her answer; black tea from a place called “Serenes Forest.”  Before Corrin can ask how to order their server makes her presence known, like she was there the whole time and simply neglected to be noticed.  She is small, compact, with a certain androgynous quality and dirty, mousy blue hair.  Her expression is better worn by a cadaver which somehow compliments her uniform, a worn, tattered cuirass that doesn’t quite fit—especially in the chest department—with the café’s emblem tacked onto her breast, not what the pale-haired princess expected in the least.  The armor catches Corrin’s eye and she wonders  _Something about that outfit is familiar, but what…?_  Azura fixes questioning eyes on Corrin before she comes back to reality and orders her drink.  Once Beruka leaves the two continue the conversation they were having.

    “Well, let’s see…  I grew up in a place called the Northern Fortress.  It was pretty remote, we were the last of the forts bordering the northmost part of the Canyon.  Gunter always told me…” The golden eyed songstress peers at the suddenly distant, somber gaze of her companion; eyes focus and refocus as she recalls something, something undoubtedly painful.

        “Corrin?”  The distracted woman jumps

    “What?  Oh, it’s nothing.  Anyway, when I was there I wasn’t really allowed out of my tower.  I could roam the grounds but not outside the walls, Father had given everyone strict orders to not let me outside of them without his express say-so.”

        “That’s horrible!  It must have been so hard…”

    “I guess?  I mean, thinking back, it _was_ pretty stifling but I never really felt lonely.  The servants were like family to me and our brothers and sisters always came to visit.”  Corrin giggles “Elise would stay for almost _months_ on end, it could get pretty grating—but don’t ever tell her I said that!  She’d _kill_ me.  And there was a HUGE library!  You’d never run out of books to read there, ever.  Felicia, Flora, Jakob and I even had a book club; we tried teaching Lilith how to read but every time she would pronounce everything in this strange accent and we never figured out why…”  She sighs “I miss them.  I miss my room and my things and my books…  I was only supposed to be in Windmire a few days, I never meant to…”. She falls into a choked silence

        “The Nohr you describe sounds nothing like the one I remember.  I can understand wanting to go back now.”

    “So what do you remember about Nohr then?  Were you in Castle Krakenburg with the rest of our siblings?  I apparently wasn’t there if Queen Mikoto is correct and I don’t have any memories of it back then anyways.  I know I would have remembered you.”  A soft, somber smile creeps onto the songstress’s thin lips before she opens them to speak

        “It… It was cold, but not just the temperature, many of the people were cold as well.  When I arrived there was much infighting amongst the concubines of King Garon—you know about that, yes?”  

    Corrin’s eyes go wide in shock “Wait, what?!  Garon had other wives?  I thought…”

        “Yes, apparently he was quite the prolific lover.  When I was there he had over a dozen children.”

 

  Corrin spits her tea out at this, the thought of that old man practically entombed on his throne would go out and…  She didn’t want to think about it.

    “He sired many children, not just the current royal siblings, and there were dozens at the beginning from what I am led to believe.  After his first wife died many of their mothers fought, trying to gain favor with their king, or died trying not to get involved.  Often times the children…  It was not pleasant.  By the time Elise was born there were no more mothers to fight, just the last four royal children left in their wake.”

        “But Azura, what do you mean by four?  If you’re a former princess of Nohr, doesn’t that mean Father is your-”  Azura laughs without a trace of mirth or joy in her, interjecting into Corrin’s sentence.  

    “No.  No my mother was from…”  The azure woman exhales like a note from a flute “Well, let us just say Garon is not my father.  I came to their court at the age of seven with my mother after traveling from place to place.  She was a singer, one of great fame and talent, and the reason why I have loved dance and song since I could walk.”  

 

  A smile, small and slim, plays briefly across her alabaster face.  Azura’s radiant eyes seem to mist over, to lose just a little of their grasp on the real world as the dour dancer reaches far back into her unhappy past.  Corrin almost feels bad for asking such a thing of her new confidant.

    “My Mother captured his heart.  I remember how he would court her, often and with great ardor, until she assented; often times his wooing was at his own social expense. He would personally bring her flowers every morning, for both of us even, throughout their whole time together.  She would tell me of his _terrible_ poetry and I never understood why she loved every single line of them.  I do not think I ever thought to ask, either…”  A small sob escapes her tight control “How foolish of me, no?  I remember their wedding; it was _beautiful_.  I cannot remember the whole castle being more warm than on that day.  I was unhappy, I think, I thought he would take her away from me.  Silly, I know, but what else what would a seven year old think?  That did not stop me, however, from being her maid of honor; when Mother asked I was more than willing to assist her in any way I could.”  Corrin’s eyes gaze through Azura’s, as if seeing for herself that beautiful day.  The silver-blonde woman lets out a wistful breath.

        “I wish I could have been there.”  

 

  Corrin notices just how comfortable she is, how much she is enjoying being with Azura.  Getting to know the enigmatic woman before her, seeing her open up like a flower trying to decide if spring has really come, is fascinating and beneath the surface there lies a deep, instinctual connection between Corrin and her counterpart.  Like a divine revelation, it hits her _T_ _his is someone I can stick with through thick and thin, without question_.  Azura is her rock in the tempestuous seas she had been thrown into a few days prior, her stoic bastion.  She understands that Azura needs more time before she finishes telling _her_ story to the other princess, especially concerning her mother and their time in Nohr.  As if in a moment of apotheosis, Corrin realizes that time is something she would give without question despite how desperately she yearns to learn more right now.  

  The topic shifts, both willing themselves to recall more happy moments.  Corrin regales the master storyteller with the time she had been playing chess with Leo until little Elise had run in, arms wild, and insisted that the chessboard was actually her “house” and badgered the two older siblings into playing along.  Azura lounges in a story of a rather absent-minded retainer named Setsuna and how, when the young chief of the Kitsune was visiting, finally stopped falling into traps and fell in love instead.  It is as if both had known each other forever, joined at the hip even, reuniting after their first time apart.  As the afternoon ticks ever onwards towards tomorrow, both turn to see the sun begin its breathtaking descent behind the high walls of the city.

  Shirasagi Castle Town never sleeps.  As the setting sun paints plump, pastel landscapes that glow with their rosy tint, the streets and byways of the metropolis bustle as if it were high noon.  Paper lanterns and the occasional soft, bulbous magical light create a nightscape the sheltered princess longs to see from the top of the central mountain. Azura stifles a yawn

    “Come, Corrin, let us finish here and return to the castle.  I, for one, have an early day tomorrow and ‘a princess needs her rest’ as my Mother would say.”

 

  Corrin moves to pull out money before stopping, _I don’t have any money…_ The clink of coinage on wood pulls her eyes to Azura—she even left a tip.

    “I…”

        “No need, Corrin, this was my treat.  Besides, are you not a hostage?  I have been led to believe that hostages are not allowed money.”  Her lips speak in a playful, mocking smile that Corrin ripostes with her tongue, poking it out of her mouth and at her new best friend.

 

  The two women give their thanks to the proprietor however the silent waitress is nowhere to be found, much to Corrin's disappointment.  Making their way back, the pair reach the edge of the Plaza just as a commotion erupts ahead of them.

  A woman in a kimono, on her knees in the center of the circular plaza, bawls her eyes out—it makes for quite the scene to cap off one’s evening.  Pedestrians give the grieving woman a wide berth and turn their heads away, not wanting to become involved in her youthful agony.  Corrin’s feet carry her without thinking to the distraught woman’s side as Azura follows a few paces behind.  The crying woman is stunning, the red and white outfit she fills with her subtle curves complimenting her long crimson strands and porcelain complexion.  The woman sobbing to the heavens appears to Corrin the spitting image of a vaguely remembered doll from her youth, only now in a stunning kimono and very much alive.  

    “Are you ok?”

 

  Corrin’s face radiates concern as the woman lifts her tear-stained head to stare through frizzled bangs at the newcomer.

    “N-No. H-h-he b-broke…”  Fresh tears join the rest, tainted by the smallest touch of makeup.  “He. He broke up with m-me… S-said I was…”

        “What?  It’s ok, we’re here, you’re ok.”

    “He said I was TOO PERFECT!!!!”  Torrents of water smash the dams keeping her oceans in check.  Her face becomes a waterfall.

        Corrin double takes “I’m sorry, what?”

    “We’d only been dating for _a month_ but today h-he told me I was too perfect and he couldn’t feel c-c-com-comfortable dating me!  W-what did I do to deserve this?  I-I thought I was such a good girlfriend, I did all the g-girl-girlfriend things…”  Corrin curls her arms around the other woman, instinct and flabbergasted inexperience vying for dominance over her actions.

        “He said you were too perfect?  That doesn’t make sense!  He should be _happy_ to have someone so amazing as you!”

_This is not how the romance novels I read in my library went.  Weren’t those examples of how relationships should be?_

    “But I’m NOT!  I-I mess up everything and I’m terrible and I’ll never be like father— _he’s_ perfect, not m-me.  Why does this _always_ happen to me!?”  The woman is shuddering now, wracking sobs sending tremors from the base of her spine to her head.  “I-I-I just w-want to be-b-b-be loooooooved… Why can’t I find anyone who _loves_ me?  Like in Swords and Sorcery!?”  Corrin spies solid, familiar ground and leaps for it.  

        “You read Swords and Sorcery?!  I thought I was the only one, I _love_ that series.  I was so upset when the author switched to his other books because it-”

    “It ended on a cliffhanger…”  

 

  Their faces hang close to each other, intimate in their connection.  It’s as if this woman was dangling off the edge of a cliff and Corrin had grabbed her hand.

    “I’m Caeldori.”

        “Corrin.”  Her trademark smile is now brighter than the nighttime pinpoints blinding the city.  “It’s nice to meet you, Caeldori.”

 

  The two women walk Caeldori back to her small house, located surprisingly close to where the they found her.  Caeldori tells them that she’s a Sky Knight serving the royal family, something her family has done for generations.  When Corrin offhandedly mentions that both she and Azura are also princesses Caeldori’s skin turns the same shade as her hair, as if the young woman were a kettle about to blow steam out of every vent in her face.  She begs, pleads, implores the two of them to never speak a word of this to her liege, Princess Sakura; she practically kowtows in her desperation.  Embarrassed at her own, very public display and having royalty see her in such a state the Sky Knight bids a hasty farewell and rushes inwards, slamming every door possible on the way.  

  As the two tired, yet satisfied, friends walk back up the many, many steps leading to their beds Corrin suddenly halts.

    “What?”  Azura asks

        “The outfit!”  Corrin smacks her forehead “It was a Wyvern Rider’s!  Camilla had one just like it when I was young.”  The other princess cocks her head

    “I do not think I follow…”

        “The waitress, she was wearing those strange clothes, remember?”  Azura nods, tentatively—she secretly didn’t remember at all but wouldn’t show it to Corrin’s face.  “She was wearing the uniform of the Nohrian Royal Wyvern Riders, I’m certain of it!” The somber songstress stops, putting a finger on her chin

    “Was she?”

        “Argh, Azura!”

 

  Finally home from their long, arduous journey both princesses bid the other good night and move towards their respective rooms.  As Corrin undresses herself—something she never thought she would be doing in a million years—her mind wanders back to the events of the day.

 

 _All in all,_ _this was a really pleasant day._

    Corrin's face holds a contented smile as she slips under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope my take on a gender neutral honorific, "Messere" worked for ya'll. If not, it's not like this is gonna show up much in this fic, it's something the proprietor of Callahan's (who is not actually Callahan) picked up from... Elsewhere. (I got it from Dragon Age 2 so kudos to Bioware for using an old Italian masculine honorific for something better)
> 
> What? You thought the Yilisse Three, Anankos and Corrin were the only ones dimension hopping in this?  
> Callahan's strikes again...
> 
> Next Chapter: "If any part of her thought her life would be peaceful from now on, it will quickly be proven wrong. Can Corrin face Lovecraftian horrors and walk away unscathed? How does someone, can someone even, reconcile the unsavory aspects of their family with their love of those very same people?


	8. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So much of her conception of the world is different than its reality. Our sheltered princess learns the hard way that maybe the Nohr she knows isn't all that good, that maybe her Nohrian siblings aren't either.
> 
> There is always another side to every story, finding out is how you get closer to the truth."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I begin I would like to make a little apology: I’m sorry to anyone who has any inkling of Japanese culture and nomenclature, I didn’t know what to call the village in this chapter so I did the very American thing of taking a bit of this and a bit of that and smushing them into a “serviceable” name(it's a reference to a Sengoku era temple that Nobunaga eventually got fed up with sieging and burned the whole damn thing down, civilians and all). If anyone has a better name please share it with me, I feel kinda icky with it as is. Thank you
> 
> -Izzi
> 
> The Faceless play an interesting role within Fire Emblem Fates. While my quick research did not corroborate much of anything, I have always had the impression that the Faceless stem, ultimately, from Anankos and his meddling in the affairs of Nohr and Hoshido. I suppose this comes from the vague origin of the Faceless, homunculi created by “Dark Magic”, and the fact that the mad God-King can transform his minions into them at will. We see that these things are scary to the characters but they don’t really look it to my eye—maybe I’m too used to cosmic horror and SoulsBorne but the Faceless, to me, are tame visually; not enough eyes. In this chapter I took a shot at fixing that; maybe it worked and maybe it didn’t, I’m much better at oral horror than written.  
> It won’t be the last time I’ll be doing this...

  Her room was comfortable—to an extent—but the bed had been made for a child, not a full-grown woman, and come the morning Corrin is uncomfortably not asleep.  Having tossed and turned her way through the night the ostensibly captive princess groggily gropes around the unfamiliar castle grounds unattended, searching for food.  Something pricks her nose and Corrin follows the scent into a strange side room—had she been more awake she would have stopped herself from stepping into such a suspect place—however she is not greeted by blades or disgusting hands, but a little affair with a homey table and five chairs; her foggy eyes recognize the two people leisurely eating the deliciously aromatic food.  The smiles on Queen Mikoto and Prince Ryoma’s faces turn towards the groggy princess and Ryoma asks for more food for his sister from the otherwise empty room—Corrin is still too asleep to figure out that there were servants hidden in alcoves waiting on them.

  The food placed in front of Corrin is scrumptious, the kind of soul-soothing that only sleep deprivation can coax out of a morning meal.  Barely any time passes before she has wolfed down the entire meal, not even bothering to use the strange utensils provided for her, and she slumps down into her chair with a sigh of contentment before her manners return to her.

    “Uhhhh… Hi, good morning.”

        “Good morning to you too, Corrin.”  Mikoto’s airy alto feels like warm spring breezes.  “Did you sleep well?”

    “Yes, although I will need a larger bed…”   

 

  Corrin is a little hesitant, she didn’t want her comment to come off as imposing on her host’s hospitality after all, but the queen simply chuckles and shakes her pretty head slightly

    “That can be easily arranged.  I’m actually surprised you did not request one last night in fact, we would have done all we could to help you feel at home.  Speaking of such, when I saw Azura earlier she told me of the wonderful time she had with you yesterday, I am glad to hear the two of you getting along.  She isn’t the most… Talkative of people, it is good to see her find someone she can truly open up to; after we had kidnapped her from Nohr I had hoped to see her truly blossom, but she prefers to keep her own company…” Ryoma chuckles

        “You simply worry too much mother.  Azura is fine the way she is, not everyone can be as outgoing like you or I.”

    “I know that” Mikoto seems a little wistful as a sigh escapes her lips.  “I just wish she would not seclude herself so much. I know her life has not been the most pleasant but-”  The door bursts open before she can continue.

 

  A Hoshidan soldier kneels before the table

    “Milord!  Faceless have been spotted near the village of Hon-no-Ji!”  Ryoma jumps out of his chair in rage and surprise

        “But that’s-”  

 

  Queen Mikoto covers her mouth with her hands, eyes wide in terror, and the massive prince sprints out of the chamber with the lumbering haste of a warhorse to fetch his sword and armor.   Corrin faces the distressed Queen in bewilderment.

    “What is it?  Why did Ryoma leave so suddenly?”  Mikoto chokes back a cry

        “That’s where Sakura and Hinoka…  Your sisters were there to provide aid to the farmers, they are not supposed to be back for another few days.”

 

  Corrin knows what she must do; her feet now doing the thinking for her as they make to follow Ryoma.

 

_Where am I?_

  Eyes snap awake, the smell of ash and burning flesh makes her puke as she rolls to the side in the snow.  Names, places, memories, recollections, her life snaps back into place as the princess searches wildly for context.  There’s a scream, unearthly and panic-inducing.

She remembers

_The village was frozen over, the hills surrounding it blanketed in layers of out of season snow.  Ryoma had sprinted his horse ragged and it took everything Corrin had to not fall off and be left by the wayside.  Still sore, she had followed the royal crimson samurai as he rushed blindly into the collection of ruined, single-story houses that made up the village.  Nothing stirred there; the grip of terror crept up her spine, what kind of monsters were these “Faceless?”_

_Shadows moved at the corner of her senses; they were not alone.  It was hideous, huge—taller than even King Garon—the slobbering beast rose from between the buildings to face its new prey.  Eyes, eyes everywhere, all over the creature’s ironclad head; searching, peering, straining in their confines to find something to kill.  Meat-muscle arms raised—sounds like a dog and a dying man shouting at the same time emanating from its maw._

_Where was Ryoma?!_

_Her panic-stricken mind raced as her legs pumped, diving out of the way of the berserk monster.  Somehow, she still had that sword of hers—when did she pick it back up?—and it flew into her hand as the monster beat its chest; wet slaps of meat against meat as another bellow shook the dead air.  Its fist swings in a deadly-swift arc towards her face but instinct guides her steps; duck, coil, then spring away. She sent her sword through the exposed mouth with a sick rip and crack of bone._

_The eyes all focus on one target, dilating in shock, in horror, at their death as each disturbingly human eye bulged and quivered in their sockets.  It began to crumple but she managed to roll out of the way in time—were these the Faceless the soldier at the castle mentioned? Conjectures had to wait because a woman’s scream brought her head snapping up and her legs sped her onwards towards the cry of distress.  Around the corner in the frozen over remains of a garden a young woman in a peasant’s ragged clothes lay; another nightmare-inspired monster was hulking over her, its eyes just as wild as the last. Yells break the air and the beast turns to destroy the new threat Corrin posed.  The slow fist swept up and over but she was already under it, rippling, blade stabbing into the armpit up to the hilt before rending a path down the monster’s torso. A smile of satisfaction crossed her face, it won’t kill this one girl, not today._

_Nothing in battle ever goes exactly to plan. The beast’s other arm, unfazed, crushed her stomach before flinging her—sans sword—away to land in the downy snow…_

 

  Victory rings in the many-eyed aberration’s voice as it raises the arm again.  Corrin’s eyes turn in slow, agonizing terror towards the imminent death; she isn’t fast enough—isn’t good enough—to prevent it after all.  Mid-rise, eyes bulging suddenly, the monster’s body stops as it erupts in flames. Unearthly screams—like nails on stone and the sounds of someone’s body being pulled apart agonizingly slowly by four horses—meld into one sick moan and the girl screams too, crawling away in horror as the creature topples to the ground.  Its muscles whip and crack in their desperate attempt to escape the cloying fire but the purifying blaze is relentless; the monster’s body flails as it dies.

  Rinkah looms over the burnt carcass, her face covered by a terrifying, demonic blood-red mask; the gaze underneath comes to meet the recovering princess, her ruby eyes hard and cold.  Rinkah moves towards her

 _Will she come to take revenge for Hinata now that we’re alone?_  

  Corrin would move away, take up a defensive posture—anything—but her limbs won’t move; all she can do is stare at her assumed executioner with regret and fear.  Neither woman, however, gets the time to say or do anything as groans begin to ring, reverberating off the hills and the broken husks of buildings around them. Corrin can only watch as the tattered survivor stumbles to her feet, brown eyes still wide and trembling, needing to lean on her busted hoe for support.  Figures lurch from around corners and behind trees to face them. Corpses, stiff and bloody cadavers moving as if animated by marionette strings, lurch from out of the woodwork towards the last remnants of life in the village. The girl begins to wail, falling over herself in her frantic need to escape the scene before her.  Corrin’s eyes widen and a sob wracks her body as her gut twists and drops in horror

 _Those were the villagers._ _This girl’s family and friends have been reanimated to come haunt her before they kill her._   _Who would do such a twisted thing?  Wasn’t the utter destruction of this innocent village bad enough?!_

    “I’LL FIGHT YOU ALL YOU DASTARDS!”

 

  Rinkah lifts her spiked club, her muscular body already bull-rushing the shuffling mob.  Iron and flame crash into the tide, some of the ghouls even croak out a cry as they are bashed into a fiery pulp as the berserk woman takes all of them on at once.  Corrin tries to get up, to defend the final survivor, but everything seems to move too slowly—like she was encased in thick maple syrup. They’re closing in them, Rinkah can only kill so many, and the frightened girl—definitely no more than sixteen—waves the hoe around trying, begging, pleading to anyone and anything to ward off this nightmare.  Pain, fear, and anger flood the princess’s veins, blood rushes and the pounding in her ears drowning out all other sound as something inside her wakes up.

  The roar is felt rather than heard; limbs once frozen over now run at a fever pitch and her world spins.  Corrin’s body moves at impossible speeds while the pink mist once again drapes its veil atop her vision. Muscles move on their own, magic directed through untrained channels in her body, converging in the crook of her throat—unbearable pressure forces her mouth to open wide.  Pure, unchecked magic like a spear of liquid destruction splits and burns the air, sawing the mass of bodies like a knife through baking parchment and leaving behind only the smell of burnt flesh and ozone. Buildings erupt as the beam cuts through everything in its path; Rinkah manages to survive the rainbow of searing energy at the cost of several tufts of white hair.  No corpse still stands, much less lies intact, and Corrin’s magic kindles whole buildings, some collapse in on each other as they burn. She lands with a hard _thwack_ in the rapidly melting snow—all the energy in her body having been spent in that instinctual, supernatural act.  Her eyes flutter weakly as they take in the scene of carnage before her; Corrin dimly wonders if she was the one responsible as she fades from consciousness.

 

  People are coming, feet crunch in the snow as the sounds come closer to the spent princess; Corrin opens her eyes to be greeted by four shapes.  A compact, red haired woman leads what looks like a winged white horse, the left wing bandaged and walking with a limp. A rose headed woman—only a little taller than Elise but with a more mature look to her gentle features—tails the first person, clutching her arcane sceptre in anxious fear.  The fourth is Ryoma, his excessively long brown hair tied behind him by his face mask, his armor scuffed and dented from blows that Corrin somehow knows would break her. The redhead takes a second to get a good look before a light not previously there jumps into her eyes and she rushes, bubbling with laughter, to hug Corrin.  Her grip is worse than Camilla’s overbearing bear hug as the eerily familiar woman squeezes and crushes her.

    “Oh Corrin!  It’s you, it’s really you isn’t it?! I’m so glad you came back to us!”

 

  Corrin can’t breathe, the force pressing on her wheezing chest it too much.  Suddenly, the rose haired woman is above the pair, her face a mask of medical concern and matronly chiding.  

    “Hinoka!  Our sister is injured, you’re hurting her!”

        “Oh.”  Hinoka’s face seems to not comprehend her sister’s words until it hits her like a hammer on an anvil “OH CRAP! I’m sorry, I’m sorry-I’m so sorry!  Please forgive me!” She’s off Corrin and bowing fervently in regret.

    The healer—the morning’s conversation clicks in Corrin’s brain, _Sakura_ —inspects her with a critical eye “Your rib is broken and you are suffering from extreme fatigue.  Give me a moment.”

 

  She chants—Corrin can’t recognize the words from within her haze, they feel alien to her semi-delirious mind—and holds her jingling sceptre out.  Warm, tingly feeling seeps into the injured princess’s body as soft light wraps itself into and around her form. She feels every muscle relax, refreshed by whatever healing magic this woman is using, and even the previously unnoticed pain in her ribs begins to fade away.  The toll on the healer, however, looked arduous; sweat rolls down her brow and her voice became more and more pained as the spell goes on. By the time she was done, the healer looked worse off than Corrin had when she started.

  The rose-haired woman doesn’t collapse; her legs, thankfully, are still capable of keeping her upright—albeit with a slight wobble.  Hinoka puts a protective arm around Sakura and helps her sit down. “There there, sis, you did it.” the young princess sighs in contentment.  Corrin, now mostly healed, finds the strength to work her parched lips

    “I-thank you.  You must be Sakura and Hinoka, I guess you already know me…”  Sakura quivers even more, as if her whole existence had become suddenly unstable.

        “D-do you… not remember us?”  

            “Of course she does!  They can’t take your memory of us away, right Corrin?”  Hinoka’s facade of confidence is undermined by her pleading stare.

    “I…  I’m sorry” Corrin sighs, “I don’t remember.  This is my first time meeting you as far as I’m concerned.”  Tears streak down Hinoka’s face

            “You-you don’t…  remember us?” Her strong arms clench tight around Corrin’s fragile neck.  “What did those Nohrian bastards do to you!?!” She’s sobbing, great wells of tears staining her lost sister’s clothes.

 

  Ryoma moves to raise up his sobbing sister, pulling Corrin from the ground before lifting the exhausted Sakura

    “We must retreat before more Faceless show up.  Now, little princess, you see what Nohr will do to destroy us.”

 

 

  The journey back to Castle Shirasagi is less frantic but an air of oppressive unease hangs over the entire party, Corrin isn’t the only one to jump at shadows.  By late evening the entourage of nobles pass under the Gates of Suzanoh into the metropolis proper, their silence drowned out by the pervasive noise. Corrin had made sure to bring village girl with them; she couldn’t bear to think what might happen to her if left alone.  She had sat behind the princess, mute and listless—still in shock. No matter what they tried none of the royals could find out if she has any relatives to stay with so, without any other course to take, the four of them decided to house her in a spare room at the castle barracks until any surviving family can be found.  

  Queen Mikoto is waiting for them at the castle gate, fingers unevenly trimmed with anxiety, and she rushes to greet the troupe with a tearful hug.  All the Hoshidan nobles fall into her embrace eagerly but Corrin hesitates, _do I belong in there?_  The Queen’s beckoning hand pulls at her feet and soon Corrin finds herself brought into the warmth of the family hug—it feels…  Nice, safe and as fuzzy warm as her favorite duvet. Corrin cries softly into Mikoto’s motherly shoulder.

  Seated around the same table from that far off morning, the royal family takes a late informal supper with their mother.  Corrin is squished between Hinoka and Azura and the fiery sky knight wastes no time in trying to “mother” her

    “You hold them like this.”  Hinoka explains “You use it to pinch and pick up your food, it’s not that hard once you get it.  You got it sis?” Corrin didn’t, much to her siblings’ amusement.

 

  As the royal siblings of Hoshido began to filter out into the night Corrin catches Ryoma by the sleeve “I have a question, one that wasn’t appropriate for supper.”  The crown prince smiles down at her and something deep inside twinges—she knew that smile from somewhere far off and long ago, fatherly and filled with affection. Corrin internally shakes herself,

_Now is not the time to probe my emotions, focus._

    “What are the Faceless?  I’d never heard of them until coming here.”  The prince sags, letting out a breath as if even the thought of them pains him deeply.  

        “The Faceless are monstrosities crafted by the mages of Nohr; mindless creatures created only to destroy.  We do not know how they are made but their purpose is simple.” The prince beckons and Corrin follows him as he continues “Our mother maintains a magical barrier, it affects the minds of Nohrians, making them less willing to continue fighting within our borders.  The dark magic used by Nohrian mages allows them to dominate the Faceless but without someone close by holding their leash these monstrosities run rampant, destroying anything in their paths. In short, the Nohrians create these… creatures, somehow, and use them to sow havoc and destruction to try and weaken us, like you witnessed earlier.”  The confused princess turns to her brother

    “Why would they do that?!  I understand that I’ve been locked away in a tower so maybe I can’t be completely accurate, but the Nohrian people would never allow themselves to stoop so low!  I’ll grant you some mages practice Necromancy there but still-”

        “You have seen them do it.” Ryoma interjects “King Garon will stop at nothing to eliminate every single thing that isn’t his, he is _utterly_ evil.  This is only his way of reminding us he is still there.  Maybe not every Nohrian is evil, I can believe that, but all those who serve King Garon _are_.”  Corrin recoils

    “Even my siblings…”

        “I know only what I have been told of them by our spies.  They are a ruthless bunch, carrying out Garon’s cruel orders obediently and without open complaints.  While the High Prince at least seems to hold honor deep within his heart his eldest sister is, from reports, especially cruel and vicious—we have lost many agents to her personally.  Your ‘siblings’ would not hesitate in using such vile things as the Faceless, they did not even inform you of your true family…”

 

  Tears well up and pool in Corrin’s crimson eyes; the revelation too much to bear yet just as inescapable.  Ryoma’s words rend her heart—both because of his many years of pain and loss over not just her but also because of his opinion of her siblings.   _How could he say such things—think such things—about them?_ She can’t, she won’t, believe his accusations; she convinces herself that there must be some mistake, some reason why he would so vehemently say such things.  

_It must be because of the war.  If he met Xander or Camilla I’m positive he would like them!  They love me after all just as much as he does, nothing will change that.  He just doesn’t see their better side because his country is at war with mine…_

  Corrin, however, keeps her thoughts to herself; consciously letting the conversation fizzle out before she lets her very violent, passionate feelings get the better of logic and reason.  She bids the High Prince goodnight and makes for her room in the hope that the solitude will help her make sense of everything, it doesn’t. Thoughts and paranoid observations tumble around and around in her mind, she doesn’t even register stripping and putting on her borrowed nightgown.   Before she knows it, sleep pulls her down into the sea of troubled dreams as her head hits the pillows of her new bed.

 

  She is falling through the green-blue waters towards the bottomless pits but now the dream is, yet again, different.  It is Azura that is with her now—her slender frame nestled comfortably into Corrin’s bulkier one—as the duo falls into the darkened abyss together.  She feels Azura’s body press against her, strong arms and hidden power wrapped around her wicked, monstrous frame. This feeling, this body she is in, it’s achingly familiar—like skin she was forced to always wear something over but now she is naked and unashamed.  She sees the rushing dark coming to bring her home but she isn’t afraid. She falls into it.

 _This is new._  

 

  On the other side of the lake is an impossible land—the terrain ripped up and thrown into the sky as if placed there by some child playing with toys—plains and hills stuck to the filmy blue at odd angles and with crumbling ruins suspended in an eternal fall.  She sees someone running, sky blue hair whipping to and fro as he sprints for his life from whatever is chasing him. Were it not for the hair and the blue trim of his tunic she might have mistaken the man for Hinoka—their clothes and builds certainly looked the same.  

  Her view follows him as he leaps across impossible distances as the orientation of the land shifts rapidly; she feels nauseous.  The view drops—past mountains and ruins and hideous eldritch monstrosities—down, further and further into the waiting deep. She hits water, the splash sending drops to suspend themselves in the air as she falls beneath the waves.  Murky depth turns to cold void as she dives, utterly alone, further in—something is in the distance, coming closer, closer…

  A face, crumbling into a gaping mouth, screams, curses the name “Corrin” in her own voice as twisted tendrils engulf everything.  

    There is nothing.  

 _She is nothing._  

    No light, no hope, no death—no sound nor voice can be heard.

  She floats their suspended, motionless, for eternity; quickly going mad at the oppressive loneliness.  Silent, voiceless screams die on her lips. Then, a voice echoes in her ears, a song.

_“You are the ocean's grey waves, destined to seek_

_Life beyond the shores, just out of reach_

_Yet the waters ever change, flowing like time_

_The path is yours to climb.”_

  Light seeps through the mire—it’s so bright and beautiful.  She is falling up as her ears, desperate, search for the voice.  It comes closer.

_“In endless dreams, countless worlds collide_

_Hope falls only to rise like the changing tide_

_But all dreams come to an end_

_Just whispers on the wind.”_

 

  She does not hear the words, rather it is as if they are implanted directly into her mind, taking on the qualities of her own inner voice.

_Reach now, reach for the light, for the truth.  Never falter in your search for the harsh, revealing light of day.  You hold the strength to find it within you._

  The voice floats through her ear—Corrin feels like she almost knows it, the cadence so close to someone dear to her as it continues to solidify in her thoughts

_“Come, take my hand.”_

  She sees the young man’s face—youthful yet so much like his graceful mother, so much like her own mother’s even—and his smile shines like the moon reflecting off a pool of water.  She places her own hand in his nimble, delicate one.

 

“It’s good to meet you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a question:  
> -Would people like to see me tackle the events of the “Heirs of Fate” DLC in a side story? I ask because the six-part story’s events are different in my work than in the base game’s along with being relevant to the plot. If not, there will be at least some snippets of it in the main work regardless.
> 
>  
> 
> Next Chapter: “Corrin’s life hangs on a precipice, the fate of the world her counterweight. What is the cost of her actions? Are her memories worth the pain and suffering that come with them? As the events set in motion by higher powers come to a head, the bewitched princess struggles against her predetermined role while taking in the sights of a holy festival.”


	9. Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Her Fate, it seems, cannot be subverted. Predetermined events set into motion by other far more powerful than the sheltered pawn of a princess come to a head. There is nothing now that she can do to change that, to change any of it.
> 
> Maybe it would be better to let the churning river of Fate sweep her up, let herself get lost and sink beneath the waves."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter has graphic depictions of parental death from their child's perspective. If this is a subject that would bring up bad memories I apologize and humbly ask that you wait for next chapter, this won't be a regular occurrence in this story after all.

  The morning did not come soon enough for Corrin.  Having slept poorly, she wakes near midday with a horrendous case of bed-everything—waking up half off her new bed did little to help either—and the stiff, sleep-deprived princess manages to rise and brush herself off, mostly.  Not knowledgeable of her state of appearance, Corrin mumbles to herself about breakfast and shuffles off to find it.  Sleep-addled, she somehow retraces her steps to the dining room from the night before but nothing is there to greet her.  The growl of dismay that rumbles in the pit of her stomach convinces her voice to mimic it; she is one frumpy morning princess.  The little bit of her brain that is actually awake tells her there will be no meal here so, reluctantly, she shuffles back out into the hall.

  Corrin’s muzzy mind is surprised when she stumbles upon Princess Sakura as both make their independent ways towards the great hall.  The littlest sister of the Hoshidan royal bloodline seems to take Corrin’s presence in stride, inspecting her with all the care of a mother hen.  Within moments, however, the serious look on her demur little face falls apart into fits of giggling.  The dumbstruck princess finds herself at a loss, her sleepy-hungry brain not yet awake enough to process the change in mood and demeanor.  It's a harder task than she initially thought, but Sakura eventually manages to usher Corrin down a side hallway and into her private quarters to help her frazzled sister freshen up. 

  Sakura’s suite is, in a word, cute.  Pastel shades and plush cushions coat the spaces not taken up by the large four-poster bed.  Homespun dolls and frilly decorations are tastefully and strategically placed around the room giving it the feeling of adorable harmlessness.  Through bleary eyes Corrin seems to see a shape moving under the covers but is dragged towards a vanity before any kind of serious inspection can be undertaken.  Brushes appear and humming floats through her half-connected ears as the younger noble begins to brush the tangled mess that is Corrin’s hair into shape.

    “You have such lovely hair sister, I-I’m jealous.” 

 

  Corrin isn’t quite awake yet so all she manages is a non-committal and fuzzy grunt.  Sweet giggles float through her mind, _what am I doing to warrant giggles?_   Gentle fingers comb through her pale silver hair, undoing the knots of troubled sleep and centering reality on the here and now.  _Is someone breathing hard?_ Any thoughts along that line are cut off by the petite princess as she continues to speak.  Sakura’s voice is more akin to a mouse’s squeak than a person’s, timid in its insecurity and unsure of what will come next, and her stutter only reinforces the image in Corrin’s mind.

    “I’m s-so glad you came b-back to us sister.  I a-always wanted to get to k-know you ever since they stole you away from us.  F-f-f-for so long I thought it was m-me; that t-th-they were a-after me, not you…   But having y-you back is _so_ wonderful, p-p-p-please never leave!” 

        “Sakura, I-”

              “ _Aaaack_!” 

 

  A different voice—much louder and shriller than Sakura’s—cuts through the air of awkward sisterly bonding like a hot knife.  Both princesses yelp in reply, causing the strange voice to continue its scream.

    “SAKURA!  What are you doing!?”

        “Hana!  W-what are you still doing in bed!?  I-It’s nearly noon!”

    “What are you doing with that strange woman?!  Is she-”

        “H-Hana, she’s my _sister_ …”

 

  The woman under the sheets stops, drawing in a panicked breath, her eyes now shiny soup plates of mortification.

    “A-ahhhh…  I’m sorry…  I’ll just, I’ll just go now, Lady Sakura.”  Corrin blushes as the nude woman attempts to sneak away and is captured in the mirror’s gaze “I’ll, uh, see you later.”

         “I’ll see you later t-too, Hana.”

 

  The door shuts with a clack; silence like a warm blanket trapping everyone still left in the room in its uncomfortable heat.  The hair, and all associated actions, are put on permanent hold.

 

 

  The throne room is alight with courtiers and flunkies going hither and thither on self-important business but Corrin ignores everything, she’s here to see one person in particular.  Queen Mikoto isn’t upon her throne, instead holding court below it with those advisors most relevant for the day in a semi-circle before her.  The raven-haired woman sees Corrin across the room and waves, beckoning her estranged daughter to join them.

    “You look as if you are feeling better after these last few days of rest, Corrin.”  Corrin curtsies low in deference

        “I have.  Despite not having all the time I might wish to contemplate everything I can say I have figured out some things.” She pauses, drawing in a breath “It has been peaceful here, I’ve felt safe.  I may not remember everything but I feel like I could come to truly see you... as my mother.”  Tears well in the Hoshidan queen’s eyes and she rushes to embrace her daughter

    “Oh, my child!  I had thought this day might never come!  I’ve missed you for almost a full score of years.  Too long, too long…  When you told me you could not remember anything from our time together, I feared…  But I knew they would not be able to cut our ties completely, I knew it.”  She squeezes tighter “I-I know this may be too much to ask of you this soon, but would you humor me?  I would like you to try and sit upon the throne, even if it’s only for a moment.”

 

  Corrin’s head hurts, pain that was—suddenly—always there now aching in stark relief to her life a mere breath ago.  Her sword arm feels like it will explode, blood vessels pop and bones shatter. Doubts and fears and paranoid imaginings plague her thoughts, unbidden—had she learned _nothing_?  Her mouth moves but she feels like she’s a step removed from the words it says. 

    “Why would I do that?” 

 

  Her “mother” tenses a little as Corrin pulls back into arms reach. “Well…” tight, familially familiar lips bitten in the same way Corrin does when she’s nervous, so unlike her siblings.

    “The throne was a gift, long ago, from the Dawn Dragon himself.  It is said that those who sit on its throne regain their true form and mind.  I thought, if you sat on the throne-”

        “Do you not trust me?!”  Corrin feels sickly, umbral rage bubble up “Do you think I’m under some kind of Nohrian spell?  That I’ll betray you or something?”  Words flow faster than thought, like a pre-arranged script in a play.  Everything spirals down, down—is this what she wanted?.

    “NO!”  It’s almost a scream, a denunciation even “No it has _nothing_ to do with trust.  I just…  I thought that, maybe, King Garon had somehow sealed your early memories…”  Breath scorches Corrin's skin, shaky but resolved “If you sat on the throne then perhaps whatever was done to you could be undone.  So you could remember us.  Remember me.”  Corrin stares, brought crashing back to reality by the statement.

        “I see.”

         

  It hurts, she can see that in the crinkle of the eyes and the sinking of the lip.  “I’m sorry, Corrin.”  The woman who Corrin feels this inexplicable connection to sees something unsaid in her own soulful red prisms.  “I don’t mean to push you towards something you don’t feel comfortable doing…”  She needs to say something, apologize to make this all right. 

    “I’m sorry, too, M-” 

 

  The sentence is drowned out by a reedy voice echoing across the massive hall.

    “My Lady Mikoto!  The ceremony is to begin shortly, we must finish your preparations.”

  Mikoto pulls away from her daughter, sorrow smiling across her face.  She turns to the approaching man “Thank you, Yukimura.  Corrin, you probably don’t remember him, but Yukimura has been the brightest and most efficient tactician and majordomo anyone could ask for.”

 

  “You are too kind my Queen.”  Taller than his liege, the chief tactician wraps himself in his work clothes—bandaged hands up to the elbow and an oil-stained, sooty apron over a simple tunic—a craftsman, an artist rather than a soldier of bow or blade.  Ovular spectacles over his slim, wrinkled grey eyes help to hide the hawkish gaze that assesses and analyzes every aspect of Corrin’s being.  His bow is humble, not a genuflect, but a simple recognition of Mikoto’s divine right to rule.  “I still have much to learn but everything I know is at your disposal.”  

  As if on cue, the royal siblings converge on the throne.  Five of them: Ryoma, Hinoka, Sakura, Azura and a young man with long silver hair like Corrin’s and a scowl worse than Leo’s.  They come to stand before their mother, replacing the advisors who had drifted off into the ether.  “I have an announcement to make.” Mikoto begins

    “There have been rumors of a Nohrian spy infiltrating the palace circulating through the city.”  The unknown sibling’s face worsens “This is false.  We must quash these rumors before they spread further.  Is everything else ready, Yukimura?”  The man nods his assent “Excellent.  Corrin, I am going to speak in the Plaza of the Dawn Dragon shortly to formally announce your return to us.  With this, the people will know that there is no spy.  I chose today because it falls on a day of renewal for the Dawn Dragon’s power, an important and sacred festival-day for us.  I must conclude some things with Yukimura before we can begin but the festival is going on for the whole day so by all means go explore, it’s always a lovely experience.” 

 

  She turns her gaze to Sakura “Would you, Takumi and Azura be willing to show her around?”  The petite princess bows to her mother 

    “I-I would be happy to, Mother.”  The sullen Takumi nods and Azura curtsies with her billowing dress. 

        “Thank you.”  The sunny-day smile rises out from behind its previous foggy gloom.

 

  The walk down is oppressive.  The foul aura the youngest prince of Hoshido gives off presses in on Corrin from all sides, at least it feels that way to her.  Whatever she feels, he certainly was not pleased at even the mention of Nohr.  “So, Takumi…”  That was her third attempt and, like every other time she had tried, it’s met by the silent, cold wall erected around him. 

    “Um…  Do you have something…  Against me?”

 

  It took him a moment, an agonizing forever, before he turns his gaze to meet hers

    “No.”

        “So, umm…  I was thinking, maybe we could get to know each other better?”  His feet brake

    “Why do you want to know about me?  Why not talk to someone who’s _better_ than me, like Sakura.  Leave me be.”

        “Woah!”  Eyes narrow and her head whips to meet his steel gaze “Now I know something is up, tell me.  I’ll listen.”  Her lips curl up to reassure and hide her fangs.

    “I don’t _know_ you.  You haven’t been around since you were four, how could you possibly understand what I’m going through?!”

         “Because I’m good with people?”  Chagrin, so honest and disarming, spices her words “How about you tell me what’s bothering you and then I’ll see if I can relate?”  

 

  Takumi pulls away, hiding inside himself but then his chest lifts, breath exhaling out his nose.

    “Fine.  You win, I’ll talk, Gods.  I…”  He collects himself “I just, I don’t know.  How can I trust you?  You grew up in Nohr, the enemy, those people who kill captives _for_ _sport!_ ”  Corrin’s guts pull and drop in agony, her face only flickers for a moment.  “How do I know you’re not like them?  How do I know you’re the same kind kid they stole from us all those years ago?”

        “You don’t.”

    “I don’t.”  The universe holds its breath

 

  His eyes widen in shock—they’d both said the same thing at the same time. 

    “So you do get it.  Can we drop this now?”  Corrin knew he wouldn’t talk, so she nods “Good.” 

 

  Then the bitter prince is past her, stomping down the steps.  Despite the apparent age difference, Corrin thinks that Takumi acts a lot like Leo; he certainly sucked at asking for help.  She would have smiled at the memories of happier times but what Takumi said is a phantom knife buried deep in her chest

 _“people who kill captives_ for sport _!”_

_“how do I know you’re not like them?”_

_I didn’t—it wasn’t…  But it was._  

  It was her blade, her hand.  She feels like she’s going to be sick.  Unbeknownst to the two of them, Azura has better hearing than she let on; her eyes peered at her toes until Corrin rounds the corner.

 

  The festival, while centered around the plaza, is huge.  What must be hundreds of people crowd around each other, perusing and haggling and eating up and down the wider than average streets of the single-story district.  The party of four initially descended with the two older Hoshidan siblings but both of them quietly disappear to their own agendas the moment they arrive.  Forced so close together, Corrin can’t help but ask, through eyebrows and head bobs, about her younger brother.  Azura, her eyes like coinage in their mischief, seems to get the hint, she slides up next to Corrin to whisper, “Takumi has always been a little surly.”  Before returning to her place alongside Sakura.

  While she is still unused to the colossal amount of people, Corrin feels capable of not fainting when amongst them, even walking without assistance—provided she followed someone at a skin-tight proximity.  She passes stands and shop windows filled with all kinds of odd and unique stuff: Completely alien clothes line stall fronts and shop windows with their bright, popping beauty.  Toys so foreign yet also oddly reminiscent of the ones she played with as a girl.  Games, she assumes, of throwing rings and sticking your head into a tank and bouncing small balls into hoops pepper themselves between the more serious ventures.  As she processes everything the smell hits her, _food_.  Her stomach roars with the ferocity of a great dragon as she realizes she hadn’t had food since last night!  Sakura is in the lead and Corrin tugs on her kimono with urgency, pleading with her eyes and rubbing her tummy in the hopes that the meaning would be understood without the need for fiery yelling.  The littlest princess nods and pushes forward with hitherto uncharacteristic boldness. 

  Despite being someone who seems so shy and unassuming, Sakura possess a unique, hidden presence; one that lets her tunnel through the crowds unmolested despite being unable to see above anything taller than a man’s torso.  The squad finally surfaces in a sheltered cove on the corner of a three-way intersection.  What causes such shelter from the raging current of festival-goers is a store—a front with a counter and stools with the kitchen behind it, a beaded curtain just off to the side of both—built into what looked like an older, pre-existing house.  The outside stools are filled past capacity but Sakura pays no heed to the ever-fluctuating line and leads them inside.  It’s cramped, but not as much as the outside is—at least in here they all have room to move and seats to sit in for a time.  A crimson flush spread over the majority of Sakura’s cute face as she tries to make herself heard. 

    “I would recommend the steamed buns, they’re vv-very good.” 

 

  The menu is in an odd script—not like the stark lines of Nohr but a jumbled mess of cuts and dashes—but everyone else seems to know what they mean, _maybe this is how the Hoshidans write their language?_   Corrin looks up towards the person working the counter to order the steamed buns but as she did, all other thought stalls in her mind.

    “Anna?  What are you doing here?!?”

 

  She’s the same woman from Nohr; same cute nose, same chocolate eyes, same pretty red hair—the only difference was her twintails and the stylish Hoshidan outfit she wears instead of the plain tunic and chef’s hat.  She didn’t seem to hear Corrin for a second, her hands moving plates of steaming food back and forth, but as if reality caught up with her, Anna’s head jerks towards the befuddled princess. 

    “I’m sorry, what?”  She mouths, her face inching closer to not have to yell “This is my shop, I own it, who’re you?”  _This can’t be_ , Corrin reels.

         “What are you doing in Hoshido?!” Her mind is beyond confused

 _How can Anna conduct business in two hostile countries at once?_   _She must be magic._

 

  The woman, however, seems to become puzzled for a moment, index finger traveling to tap her chin in thought.  “Ah!” Anna’s loud shout draws Corrin’s siblings her way, even a few patrons look up in alarm.

    “I reckon you’re mistaken.  See, I’m Anna, who ya met was Anna—wherever you met her—and ain’t me.”  Corrin continues to stare, bamboozled

        “I’m sorry, what?  That made _no_ sense, there’s only one Anna…  Right?”

    “Nope!”  The cheery restaurateur lights up like a proud parent “You’re thinkin’ of my sisters.  Our Ma named each of us; branding, ya know?”

 

  Corrin doesn’t, or else this would make sense, obviously.  The look on her face tells a whole epic because Anna pulls out her winning “customer satisfaction” smile.  “Ok, so I got a ton of identical lookin’ sisters, all of us named Anna cus we’re all merchants from a family of merchants, got that?”  The four royals and the few attentive patrons nod “So if ya come across any other Annas’ out in the world they ain’t me, they’re my sisters.”  She winks “I’m the best though.”

 _Will such strange wonders never cease?_   Corrin asks the world at large but nothing answers her hidden prayer.  “So, what’ll ya have?”  Despite being apparently different people, the Annas all seem to be the same saleswoman to the core. 

    “Steamed bun.”  It was automatic.

        “That’ll be three coppers please!”

 

  On a primal level she knows the buns had been the same, right down to the texture of their perfectly puffy exterior.  She has enough sense not to mention this but Corrin wonders how many Annas’ are running this scam, selling the exact same buns and telling everyone they were a one-of-a-kind recipe.  It comes to her that maybe, in a sly, roundabout way, it _is_ a one-of-a-kind recipe—just marketed by a large, physically identical family spread out across the continent and possibly beyond.  Regardless, they still tasted just as wonderful as they had in Nohr and Corrin recalls what memories she has of that drink muddled night with a smile.  Her siblings get various other small meals—mostly buns, Corrin notes—and chow on them with gusto.

 

  “You know, I’m very close to a girl in Nohr who’s just a little younger than you.”  It had come up after Sakura had mentioned how old she had been when Corrin last saw her.  They had left Anna’s restaurant and continued poking their heads into various stalls and shops, mostly window shopping.  Currently they were at a clothing stand, the tailor’s deep blue hair done up in the exact same style as Takumi’s except shorter by a tiny bit and less frizzy.  Corrin realizes something is special about her when Takumi starts chatting amicably with the tailor, like they had known each other for a while, and the woman even fidgets and blushes a little as he compliments her excellent craftsmanship.

    “Really?  W-what’s she like?”

        “How do I describe her…”  Corrin’s eyes wander from gorgeous outfit to gorgeous outfit “Well, she’s generous and kind, always going out of her way to help others.  She’s so sweet that being around her can give you toothache.  Honestly, she talks way too much, she would stay at my tower for months on end!  Somehow I think you’d get along with her though.”

    “What?!?  No no no, I-I’m not much of a talker, I get so s-sh-shy…”

        “Really?”  Corrin raises an eyebrow “I didn’t think so.  You’re really nice and warm and I feel like we could talk about anything!” 

 

  Sakura blushes, twiddling her fingers through the peach blossom hair that had fallen down the sides of her face.  Over her shoulder, Azura is chuckling as the petite princess splutter for words of self-effacement or modesty or whatever she was going for.  They were such a close family, even with Azura, that it makes Corrin feel nostalgic inside.

    “I know you and Elise would get along.  Even if she’s a pain sometimes, I know how good she is at getting people to like her.  She’s also the youngest of four and a healer like you so you’d have at least some stuff to talk about…”

 

  The mood, unfortunately, shatters as Takumi bumps into Corrin as he makes to leave.  “Where are you going brother?”  Sakura’s eyes are puzzled and radiate concern—and not just for the immediate issue. 

    “The ceremony is starting.  Shouldn’t we get there before Corrin decides she wants to go home more than stay here?”

        “Takumi!”  Azura barks, Sakura’s hand failing to hold back the gasp of horror from getting out. 

“I’m sorry, what?”  His tone drips fat and sarcasm “Did you say something?  Because here I was thinking you liked it here too!” 

 

  Takumi’s pout is legendary, Corrin had never seen anything approaching it in all her years of dealing with Leo; she stares, dumbfounded.  By the time the words lined themselves up in Corrin’s head the moody prince is lost in the crowd, Sakura dashing after him with a mighty flounce.  Only the two former Nohrian princesses still stand in the busy shop—the tailor's face holds an odd, pained expression as she watched him go.

    “I’m sorry for Takumi.  He has been through a lot over the past fortnight and is still grieving.  Give him time, he will warm up to you.”

        “Grieve?  Azura I don’t…  What do you mean by that?”  It was coming, something terrible tugged at the fringes of her mind, a voice haunting her through the haze of the past week.

    “His…  His retainer, Hinata, had gone on a scouting mission alone into Nohr.  He has not come back; it has been almost a fortnight and a half now with no word.”  Her eyes lower “There are stories…  Some of the Nohrian nobility find it enjoyable to kill captives.  I know it doesn’t mean-”

        

  Corrin knew, rationally, that she had collapsed to the pavement, sinking to her knees as the sheer weight of the world came crashing down on her shoulders again, but she didn’t feel it—she only remembered.  He’d said Takumi’s name, right before he charged her in the throne room. She relived the whole thing.  The sword in her hand, her forehead on his nose, his fist as it connected with her lip.  She feels the hand slip from her control, motions not her own, as it raises itself high above his breast. _“No, please no”_ she pleads _“I don’t want to…”_ Feels the sickening, meaty noise as it entered his side—how it fractures and sheathes itself inside its flesh scabbard and the rippling tectonic plates aim to snuff his life out.

  She sees herself in the moment of his death, a magnificent goddess of battle and killing with feral eyes and pointed fangs and unnatural, bestial ears.  Her eyes widen as his did, focus shifting in and out—all she sees is herself as the blood spurts onto her silver armor.  The monster she’s-

    “Corrin?”

 _Azura?  Why was she in this nightmare?_   Her body shakes at the thought of that wonderful person sharing her horrible fate, reliving her first kill over and _over and over and-_

    “Corrin!  Whatever is wrong, snap out of it!”

 

  Corrin comes to, her skinned knees making themselves heard for the first time since they were slighted.  They’re still in the tailor’s stall, _how much time could have passed?_   _Moments?  No, ages. It must have been, right?_  “Corrin talk to me, what happened?”  She can’t, words don’t form and destiny drags Corrin to her feet, into the crowd with her adopted sister chasing after.

  Before she knows it, she sees the square.  It’s crowded—jam packed with endless amounts of people and they keep coming, filling the roofs and shoulders and side streets as they strain not to crowd too close to their queen.  Her feet take her onwards, towards her mother, automatic movements without the fluidity of thought.  She turns to Corrin—now only a passenger in her own skin—and smiles.  The ceremony had started without her.  Her mother’s eyes are kind, caring, and full of love and forgiveness.  _Oh, if she only knew._

  Her arm tingles.  Limbs pulled by some alien force away from her body and she fights muzzily to stop it.  Mikoto notices, she knows something is wrong.  As the beatific woman turns, Ganglari—Corrin realizes it had been in her hand all along, _how long had it been there, biding its time?_ —leaps from her grasp towards the crowd.  A robe takes hold of it, she can’t see the hand holding her cursed weapon.  Time slows as her body begins to reclaim itself muscle by muscle, helpless as her eyes follow its arc.

  There’s an eye, her realization coming far too late, leering at her from the crossguard of Ganglari as the hulking figure embeds it in the ground.  Her legs can almost move as her blade erupts in fell energies, cascading out into the crowd sowing destruction into everything it touches.  Tiles are ripped from their places as people begin to scream in pain and terror as everything around them explodes,  _this can’t be happening.  No, no!_  Faltering steps can’t take her fast enough as the bubble of destruction grows wider and wider and the eye flies open, its iris dilated to the smallest dot on the tip of an “I.”

  She knows, knows what will happen.  Knows in her heart so surely that it chills her—can practically feel it as the shards that make up the blade break free from spectral shadows—understands where they will point, at her. 

_Father meant to kill me, all along, he just wanted an excuse to commit mass murder while doing it.  I was never meant to survive this…_

 

  They crawl now, time unable to be processed at the speed they should be flying at, drawing out the torture into agonizing, searing infinitum as the abyssal darts let themselves loose.  Six spirals towards her, falling forward with a target painted straight on her breast as the rest fan out to do their treacherous master’s bidding—this was it.

  She tries to dodge but everything is like moving through the thickest maple syrup ever imagined; she makes no meaningful progress.  _I’m going to die_ , the thought taking up every fiber of her body as the shards grow ever closer.  White cloth moves to shield her view, it’s not her own.  More cloth with highlights of blue and trim of gold make their way into frame, something is trying to hold off the doom coming towards her.  Black hair.

 _No, no please no!_ Her face, achingly slow, lifts to meet the face of her protector.  _Mother._   It’s her mother who was putting herself in harm’s way, _she can’t!_  Hands move to push her away, take her place—anything but let her die.  Too late.  Through the haze she hears her mother gasp out in agony as they embed themselves across her chest.  Blood sullies the pure white as the shards of Ganglari quiver, trying to rip through and get to her too, _t_ _his must be a nightmare—it must be!_   Mikoto’s face comes into vivid view, burning itself into every corner of her daughter’s brain as she collapses.  _She can’t_ , arms reach for her murdered mother, _she can’t be, no no no no no she can’t be dead!_  Everything hurts, her face contorted with the maddening pain she feels as if it were her own, her arms reach for their mother, their true parent.  The weight is too much.

  She collapses with her mother onto the cobblestones of the Plaza, unrecognizable in the crying carnage.  Her face, the face that she won’t ever get to see smile or laugh or grow impatient after chores aren’t-don’t, won’t see that gentle nose—so like her own—wrinkle at the foul smell emanating from her trashed room or her boozy lips.  Eye’s lock into her daughter’s, last looks filled with sorrow and pain and suffering that should never be there—never belonged there after so long living inside her.  She smiles, lips part and voice husky as the lungs collapse.  “You’re not hurt?”  Of all the things, she wanted to know her child was safe, she had not died in vain.  “Tell me you’re ok…”  Water falls from her eye sockets

    “I’m fine mother, I’m fine.”

        “I’m… so…”  Her chest heaves and wracks, it’s so hard to breath “Glad.”

    “Please, I-” 

 

  Head bobs, finding shelter in the crook of her little bird’s arm, her muscles spasm and convulse, tremble in her arms.  “Mother?”  _No no no please wake up please wake up, mother no_ “Mother…?”  _She’s dead, she’s dead she’s gone, dead-gone_ killed by that monster with her sword _, killed by my sword…_   _No, please, you can’t!_

“MOTHER!”

        

    “Mother…  Mother!”

        “You there!” 

_Swivel, see, kill._   Giant blur of red swipes blue-silver into the shadowy purple beast.  Not there,  _not there._   Cape falls, can’t be it— _must find, must kill-rip-tear!_  

    “Show yourself!” 

 

  Claws soaked in rivers of red from white, dead.  _Dead._   World is pink, misty red-rage and the color of certainty, she knows what must happen.  Ragged breath from beating breast as shadows hiss from beneath puny flesh.  Dark wind around Corrin, buffets all away from her, from her mother.  Those eyes, beautiful brown so unlike her red moons, the last time she’ll ever see them.  Her voice cries out in rage, vocal chords overlapping into the terrible roar of a wounded beast.  Shadows bloom around her pleading form, tendrils lapping against her shores as her aura—no, _she_ changes.

  Talons rip through fingertips, blacker than obsidian and the darkest corner of the heavens.  Arms hold her daughter one last time.  Rip and tear until the skin turns to mire and cheeks pierce through as horns grow further and further.  Limbs stretch, bones break.  Blissful agony as she transforms—falls forward with her claws outstretched.  Unblinking orbs of darkness incarnate stare as her jaw juts out and scale replaces skin.  Wings.  Silver limbs stretch and unfurls leathery sails that push the swirling pitch away to dissipate into nothing.

    “Gods!  What IS that!?”

        “I-”

 

         _“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”_

  Corrin is gone, lost to the madness in her blood.  Loss and the unbridled rage holding untold power let loose from a broken mind like a ship from her mooring.  She is beautiful—body answering questions about her unique attire as the pattern seamlessly melds into her scales where it belongs.  Azura knew, secrets told as her mother disintegrated before her young eyes kept only for her; the dragon before them is Corrin’s true form, her true power.

  Ryoma—the sacred sword that he wore out of a sense of now-proven paranoia crackling with electricity—set eyes on the murderer, face bowed for a moment beneath the all-encompassing cowl. 

    “Vengeance will be mine!”  The prince again charges his foe and finds his mark.  “Prepare to Die!” 

 

  Blade against blade the two square off, lightening against shadow.  All the shade does is laugh, malicious and deep and bloodcurdling that sends chills up the spines of all who hear it.

  Shimmering figures phase into existence, movements erratic and void-filled sockets where eyes should be.  Near invisible, the stalk towards the remaining Hoshidans.  Stifled moans as something worse rises from the grave—bodies, the dead and dying ripped to shreds, now puppeteered by some unholy force.  Bile rises within Azura’s stomach.  Sakura is crying, incapable of truly processing what her eyes tell her.  They have no weapons, why would they need them?  She clenches her fists in the quiet desperation she always held close.  They come; one, two, a dozen—more.  _I’m going to die here, die unable to protect Sakura_ the thought races through Azura’s mind.  Clawing hands come closer and closer, Sakura closes her eyes.

 _Thwack!_  

 

  A thud, it’s not hers.  Eyes peep open as a knife sticks from the breast of a risen corpse.  _Takumi!_  Blood trickling into his right eye and his whole body dusty from the rubble, hand still raised from his throw, is Takumi.  His grin is cocksure, victory is his once again and his siblings are safe.  The two princesses rush to his side—one to treat his wounds and the other for safety—as each flinch when a bestial cry fills the air; Corrin is surrounded. 

  Phantoms and walking corpses trying to bury her underneath the mass of bodies, she is losing by inches.  She’ll die and there is nothing anyone can do, nothing she can do.  Fire engulfs the ground around the dragon, _could she breath fire now?_   No, Azura sees someone—a shadow dancing upon the flames—raise their club high and bring it down.  The pillar of fire burns higher, Corrin rears in anger and fright.  As fastly bright it burns so too does it end, leaving the path between the mindless dragon and her mother’s murderer clear. 

  Corrin charges, violent braying as the shattered ground trembles with each footfall.  Ryoma is distracted, such a large beast bearing down seemingly on him should give any warrior pause; his attacker, however, has no fear.  He swipes, raking lacquered plate with unnatural strength and finding the strap holding the face mask in place.  Steel caresses skin, painting its canvas in shades of red.  The dragon that was Corrin is heedless of her brother, all she sees is the shrouded killer.  Her ears hear the words, but no sane brain is there to understand when her brother chokes out

“You can kill me, but you cannot kill the spirit of Hoshido!”

 

  No coup de grâce comes, however, no diving sword finding the little holes between the eldest prince’s armor, only the eclipse of the noonday sun by a massive shadow.  She swipes with her front paw, this time connecting with cold flesh beneath fragile cloth.  Even his blade isn’t enough to stop the raging beast as she swats the phantasmal being into the rubble.  He utters words as if from a far off and disused memory

    “Show me… what you’ve got.  Heh.  Heh.  Heh…”

 

  As if heard through a watery barrier, the villain’s voice, for all it’s quiet, sends shivers down Ryoma’s spine.  This creature was beyond this world, it had to be—nothing else the Hoshidan prince had ever encountered could explain this.  Ryoma’s strength left him, knees weak and lungs ragged, his arms won’t even keep his trunk-like torso upright; the greatest spirit of Hoshido is spent, utterly, and in such a short time.   _Disgraceful._  

  Arms wrap around his massive shoulders, tender and slim with the strength of a kitten and the feather touch of a pegasus’s wing. 

“Brother!”

    “Brother!”

         “Ryoma!”

 

 _My siblings._   In his rage he had forgotten their existence, about anyone’s existence.  He looks up into their tear-streaked and weathered faces and knows, knows that they see him in all his weakness—he hates it. 

    “We have to get out of here Brother!”  _Oh Sakura, dear Sakura_

        “We can do no more.  All we can do for now is believe in Corrin and be here when she is done.”

 

  Azura’s words cut him deeper than his opponent's blade. 

 _How can I, the best defender of Hoshido, sit back while my homeland—my family—is attacked?!_  

 

  Pride fights bitter wars with practicality almost imperceptibly across his stoic face while Azura watches, perceptive as always. 

  While Ryoma battles his inner demons Corrin, too, was battling hers.  The cloaked figure had launched himself at her armored form, throwing his sword to bury it in her flank before blinking to it as if his hand never left the hilt.  He expected Corrin to swipe again with her free hand but she tricked him, slamming her side, hard, into the ground before picking up the hardy spectre and launching him into the statue of the Dawn Dragon, shattering it.  As if long forgotten memory tugged at his mind, the phantom pauses for a long moment before reaching for something hidden in the stone of the statue.  A blade _—_ glistening and golden in the sunlight, radiating a fiery aura that flickers with terrible energies _—_ to replace the one in the dragon’s side.  The figure leaps straight and true towards Corrin’s head for the final, decisive blow.  The giant silver-black beast seems unconcerned, elated even, for her attacker to make such a bold gambit and her maw lies open and waiting for his meaty flesh.

    “CORRIN!”

 

  The ocean blue princess’s cry is desperate and melodic like the final note of a tragic aria in all its reverberating potency; the ghostly figure’s head snaps to meet hers.  The songstress feels like she sees something under the hood, eyes boring into her soul.  The spectre’s fatal error is apparent to all, himself most of all. 

  Corrin’s jaws clamp around his frame and crush with frightening intensity.  She shakes her head, hoping to snap the spine and cease any struggles; it fails, of course, prompting the otherworldly dragon to bite down even harder.  His new blade connects with her throat but all its divine power evaporates even before he swings.  A dull smack of metal on metal rings out and, as if pried open, her jaws release the phantom in surprise, throwing him into a nearby pile of rubble with speed and force.  She turns to charge once again but the figure beneath the cloak is already fading.  It rasps 

“Not bad.  Heh heh heh.”

 

  He’s gone, just the tattered mess of a coat and the remnants of his terrorism the only indicators of his and his minions’ presence.  She roars, her quarry gone without a trace—retreat denying her the kill.  All that goes through her mind now is kill.  _Kill, kill kill kill._  Kill.  Feet stomp as her nose sniffs the air for new targets, more blood.  Something reaches her ears, far off recollections and primal feelings.

    " _You are the ocean’s gray waves…”_

  It almost works but the song falters suddenly, leaving her haunted mind lost, confused.  Angry.  Waves erupt in front of her, _a challenge, a threat!_

_“You are the ocean’s gray waves, destined to seek.  Life beyond the shores, just out of reach…”_

  She won’t let it get to her.  Rage.  _Rage!_   _Rage against those who would hurt her!_  Again, the lilting melody falters, something puny is hiding behind the menacing water.

    " _Yet the waters ever change, f-”_

 

  Her enemy is within range, she raises her claw high.  Something tells her to stop, that this is wrong, but she’s already sweeping it down into flesh.  The watery foe goes down, falls before her might.  _Was this creature so easily bested?  Only one hit lay her out on the ground._  She laughs at the idea, that one who could look so powerful was so weak—something isn't right, she feels it in the far corners of her tattered soul.  Her gaze is pulled to the prone enemy like a pet on a leash, no more in control of her body than the animal its direction.  The voice, ringing in her head as it travels up and down her spine.  But it is weak, _like its singer_ , she realizes.

     _“Flowing like time.  The path is, yours to climb…”_

 

 _A trap!_   The water is all around her, shimmering and glistening like the lake where…  _The singer, it was her._   Hand to throat she’s ready to kill- _kill the enemy, slaughter them all!_   She squeezes, chokes out the life that choked out the one most precious to her.  “Kill me if you want, but” The woman under her was speaking, it pulled at her— _something was wrong, she knew it, but what?_

    “Do it as yourself.”  It was Azura

 

 _Azura…  Oh, Azura.  She was choking her, why was she doing that?_   Nature fought Nature as she brute-forced her body back away from her closest friend here.  She saw her hands, felt the wings that fluttered on her back, her tail as it swished, agitated, behind her.  This was wrong— _she_ was wrong—she's a monster!  _Who was “she”?  She had a name but what was it?  Corrin?  Did Corrin have a body too, soft curves and gentle blemishes like Azura?_  It came to her in bits and pieces: _neck slender, nimble finger with painted nails, legs lithe and athletic, breasts modest—especially when compared to her sister…  Sister.  She had a family, right?  Sisters and Brothers and…  Mother.  No Mother, Mother no…_

  Everything is shrinking.  Body reshaping into skin and hair and…  Her.  It hurts, her bones unfusing and refusing as scales recede beneath flesh, horns sink into the growing asymmetrical mop of deep blue hair.  Memories, laughter and joy and pain and sorrow all crash into her like a squall and tears streak down her face, she remembers. 

 

She remembers everything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is the climax of the prologue for the game I'm going to do something a little different. I'm not going to release the next chapter " on schedule" and rather release a side fic instead. However, next month, the first release will be doubled, thereby wrapping up the prologue nicely and without stringing ya'll along unduly
> 
> Next Chapter: "The time has come. Two nations once more clash upon virgin fields, families and loved ones swept up in its deadly wake. Can Corrin make amends for all that she has been party to—all the death and lies and deceit that has used her like a chess piece—and stop this war at the eleventh hour, or is it already too late? Can one woman's voice still the blades of hundreds, thousands of faceless soldiers and grind to a halt the great war machines of nations? Will her siblings on either side be willing to listen to her heartfelt pleas for peace?"


	10. The Path is Yours...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The time has come, a choice must be made.
> 
> There is no turning back, she must choose, but..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of overhead: I'll be at a Con for this weekend and because I didn't actually remember I was going until Monday (this is a far more regular occurrence than one might initially think) I decided to post the two chapters I promised up at the same time instead of over two days. All this means is that any notes at the beginning or end won't get made until after I recover from working a haberdashery for the second time in my life...  
> I love it, I swear.
> 
> -Izzi

_She was four.  Her father, King Sumeragi, had taken her on a daddy-daughter trip to Cheve’s capital city.  She had asked why Mommy or her siblings hadn’t come with but daddy had only smiled, telling her he wanted some quality time with his little bluebird while he went away for his trip.  She’d been so overjoyed to go travel and see the world on his massive, capable shoulders.  It was her first time on a ship and the waves made her giddy as she ran around the top deck, playing with her various toys and whomever she could rope into her games._

_She loved people—meeting new and interesting individuals brought a unique joy to her heart that went past anything her young mind could describe.  She had seen so many new things, burned into her mind with the vividity of youth, she never wanted it to end._ _It ended in Cheve, that fateful night._ _They had been coming home from meeting with King Garon—someone who gave Corrin the creeps even as a child—when they were attacked.  She remembers bodies pressed on either side of them, her daddy standing over her as a human shield._

_First came the hail, arrows descending to cloud out the moon.  Daddy did his best but shaft after shaft pierced his flesh through his clothes and it was too much, he fell.  Then came the snow, that evil old man called Garon.  He stalked up to her daddy, brought his big black axe up and just cut daddy’s head right off, gloating the whole time.  She was sobbing by then, terror and revulsion making her bile black and sickening, begging her big strong daddy to get up and fight, to protect her like he always promised.  Then came the frostbite, Garon cackling like a winter’s wind as he picked up the traumatized child.  The words he said echo back and forth in her head_

“You are my child now.”

 

_She never spoke, those first weeks in Castle Krakenburg, just stared blankly off into the distance.  She remembers with mind-shattering clarity every detail, every moment in its crystalline perfection, like a biography of still frames.  Her siblings—she loves them now with all her gigantic heart but back the she was a broken doll, all they were to her was terrifying figments of a never-ending nightmare—Xander, Camilla, Azura, Leo and little baby Elise all tried in their own way but the memories were too great, it was even hard just to stare numbly ahead for even a moment.  Garon didn’t care, she was his now to do with as he pleased, he had her beaten to try and bring her out of the shell she was in, whipped in secret rooms like prison cells but worse; some of the scars might still be there._

_It was Camilla who took care of her the most, mothered her and cooed over her when the hardest prize—a smile—was pried out of her with kindness and kisses.  Xander would sometimes rock her and Elise to sleep when Camilla was “away”—no doubt just somewhere else in the castle so he could be with them like that.  She loved hearing his stilted attempts at singing, just like her brother Ryoma whenever he tried to be like Mother.  Leo would try to play with her, sometimes it even worked, and Elise would bubble so joyously when it did.  Even Azura would pitch in, singing lullabies to calm her when she was spiraling and nobody noticed or would wake in the dead of night from the memories.  Azura's songs sounded of home, somehow, even though the words felt like gibberish to her young ears.  But then Azura was kidnapped—she now knows that’s what happened since none of them spoke of her ever again, like she’d never existed to leave those holes in their hearts—and little four year old Corrin was sent off to the Northern Fortress “for her own good.”_

_The abuse didn’t stop with the scene change.  Oh Poor Gunter, he was forced to oversee the inhumane cruelty inflicted upon her—a child—even if he did not partake directly in it.  He had done what he could, sheltered her from as many blows and scars as he was able to, replacing starvation and whips with balls and covert meals, but it was not enough.  Eventually it became evident that all this did was make things worse, or maybe Garon finally got bored, but the mistreatments ceased regardless.  What followed, however, was far worse, here in the prison of perfect memory.  He took her, bent her fragile young mind to his will and locked away everything before that exact moment, rewinding her mental clock to midnight._

_Knowledge is a powerful thing.  With trauma forgotten the cheery, hyper, naive child returned and her new siblings acted as if nothing was wrong—she never knew what had been lost.  Each memory was turned into ice, locked deep within her mind, but the "gift" of such ignorance is a double-edged thing; every memory was turned to crystal, everlasting in their sharp, fractal relief.  She knows, like the revealing of a horrible fate from behind a satin curtain, that they will never fade, that she will always have these perfect recollections of her life before Garon sealed it away.  All the joy, all the pain, the suffering, all the knowledge of things she should never know—memories that would have been dreams or nightmares without this certainty of stasis—now forevermore in her solitary prison._

_It is a weight far greater than any world, any destiny, could impart—especially on one so fragile as her…_

 

  When Corrin comes to, she’s on her knees, limp on uneven gravel with her face upturned, pleading for the Gods to take all this away.  Reality snaps back as arms wrap around her sore neck, pushing her back to the ground with a _clang_ .  There’s a person atop her, petite and sobbing her eyes out with a soft, hiccupping voice.  Corrin’s back hurts far more than before, the ground pressing into odd places from her tail to her wings.   _No, that’s not right: tailbone and shoulders, tailbone and shoulders, tailbone and shoulders!_

    “Oh C-Corrin!  Corrin, you’re ok!”

        “Sakura?  Wh-wha?”  Pain bites her spine “Aaaagh!  My back!”

 

  Sakura hastily lets her elder sister sit up and away from the rubble.  Every fiber of Corrin’s being is in some state of soreness and her skin feels like an overcoat only now she recalls why.  The feeling of utter clarity still pumps through her but a far more pressing concern lies right in front of the dragon princess.  Azura’s on the rubble as well, weak arms struggling to bring the rest of her body upright.  Scratches, burns, red welts choking her neck—evidence of Corrin’s transgression marking every visible inch of her best friend.  The songstress’s head is upright, eyes meeting Corrin’s own.  “Are you ok Corrin?”   _I need to apologize for all this, it’s all my fault._  

    “Are YOU ok?  I feel…  What I did was disgusting, I don’t even-” A deep breath to steady her quaking chest “It was like I had no control over myself, I just went berserk.  I can’t believe that I did that to-”

        “Please do not worry about it, that was not you, not really.  It was the blood of the ancient dragons that runs in your veins.”  Azura’s gaze is stalwart and Corrin struggles in protest and disbelief

    “No, but I—wait, I thought only the Nohrian royal family carried the blood of dragons…”. Ryoma barks out a wincing laugh from his resting place before gathering his words together.  

            “Is that what they told you?  Lies.”  He spits “The blood of the Dusk Dragon runs in the Nohrian family, that is true, but the blood of the Dawn Dragon flows through ours.  I know not why but you, Corrin, you are special.  You can actually take the _form_ of a dragon.”

        “I’ve…”  Azura halts—eyes flicking left, right for a moment before centering “I have heard of such a thing, stories mostly.  This is my first time witnessing it in real life, however…”  Corrin takes a moment to process her ruined surroundings and stumbles to her feet in alarm

    “Never mind me!  What happened to all those people?!”  The devastation and the still audible screams, wailings, flitter through her hearing.  “I can’t, I can’t believe this.  An hour ago these streets were filled with people and children…  Life.  What happened here?  Oh Gods, did I-?” Ryoma stops her spiral

            “This.  This is the work of the Nohrians, Corrin.  This is what they do.”  He seems to recall some detail from the churning chaos of the past, it looks like it hurts a little “Let me guess, the sword you carried, it was a gift from King Garon, yes?”

_I threw it away….  Didn’t I?_

    “Yes…  It-it was…”

 

 The plot fits together perfectly.  Puzzle pieces slide into her mind to fill in the gaps left by doubt; the little clues she should have paid more attention to let their overdue warning bells ring loud and achingly clear through her.  Her body freezes to a shade as pale as skim milk

    “He masterminded the whole thing; it is not your fault.  He knew you would be captured and brought before Mother…”  New tears trace the lines left by the old

        “Oh Gods.  Oh Gods, I’m so sorry!  I should have seen this coming, I-”

 

  “Your apology means _NOTHING_!”  Takumi—mouth wide like a horrible watercolor portrait—wailing like the banshee, points fiery damnation at Corrin

    “This is all YOUR fault!  Mother is dead—her and who knows how many others—and _you_ are the reason why.  If you hadn’t show up…”  He chokes on his next words “If you hadn’t shown up NONE of this would have happened.  You don’t belong here!”  Everyone turns to him, eyes all filled with different emotions but each one with the same intensity.  Azura regains her poise first.

        “Your words will not change anything Takumi.  Besides, this isn’t her-”

    “Shut up Azura!  You’re just like Corrin, an _interloper_.”  Her face becomes as glassy as a reflecting pool, tears trace untapped veins down her soot-stained face

            “Takumi…”  

    He turns to glare at Corrin again  “Shut up.  You don’t have the _right_ to speak my name, I never want to see you again.  Are we really to believe you had no knowledge of this?!”  

 

  The vitriolic prince lines up to spit more venom but a shrill scream cuts off all other protest or words.  Little Sakura, rage and sorrow morphing her tiny voice into one akin to a giant yelling at the void, scrunches her face at him.  

    “TAKUMI!  What are you saying?  Knock it _OFF_!  You just saw Corrin; she was blind with rage over what they did to Mother!  She was the one who made those-those m-monsters flee, is that not proof enough?!”

        “Takumi, listen,” Azura picks up the mantle, “please.  Corrin is your sister.  If you do not trust me then…  Then that’s one thing, but she is your own _blood_.”  Their pleas don’t reach him on his mountain of pain

            “Mother is dead thanks to her.  She is _not_ my sister.”  

_Gods_ , Corrin thinks, _he’s right.  I’m the reason, aren’t I_.   _Mommy’s dead because of me, if I never came here…_  

 

  She dives, flailing, at breakneck speed as the weight of all her locked-away memories and everything that happened in the last week hems her in, crushing her into herself.  She lies there as they continued to bicker, all of them trying to process and figure out what they thought of all this—of _her_ —but a voice out of the ashes of the destroyed district calls out, stopping their squabbling.  

    “Please stop!  I know this is not what Lady Mikoto wanted!”

 

  Yukimura runs across the broken plaza with three people in toe.  Two of them Corrin doesn’t know—a woman dressed in rather revealing clothing and another in formal military attire with an X-shaped scar across much of her upper face—and behind them, Hinoka.  “What could you know about it Yukimura!?”  The young prince’s outburst is neither tempered nor denied by anything.  Ryoma looks at his mother’s advisor with eyes like a puppy faced with an existential question and trying not to cry

    “What do you mean?  Did she say something to you?”  The bespectacled man comes to a halt in front of the tableau, catching his breath.

        “It brings me such great sorrow to say this, but…  Our Queen foresaw her own death.”  The mauve-haired woman stiffens and lowers her eyes for some reason “This is not your fault, Corrin, King Garon is the perpetrator.  She had been told of it years ago but did not know the exact time or place until today.  However she… Refused to run from it and bade all of us to continue on knowing this would happen so as not to make Garon retaliate with something worse.”  He puffs like he's going to continue but then his face lights up in considerable surprise, even hope. “Is that…  The Yato?”

 

  Everyone follows his gaze—all except the baffled Corrin.  “I’m sorry, what?” Yukimura points towards her, or rather, to a point just below her “It is!”

    “The divine blade, the Yato.  Much like your Ranjinto, Ryoma, and your Fujin Yumi, Takumi, the Yato may only be wielded by a singular warrior, one who is chosen by the blade itself.  It is said that the Yato was forged to bring peace to the world, but we had thought it lost ever since…”

 

_“Bring peace to the world…”_ Thought and word come at the same time for her.  She tries to stand, to make a speech—say anything, really—but it’s hard.  Her legs are still shaking from the ordeal, from all the black, putrid self-loathing piling up in her system and contaminating everything else, but stand she does.  She feels a tug on her hand, a pull, familiar in its way to that of her last sword.  She fights desperately against it but the force commanding her to accept is too much—panicked rejection such as this stands no chance against its divine inevitability.  The blade, Yato, flies to her grasp, folding her fingers around the somehow tender-warm hilt.

  The maelstrom that is her mind stills in this ray of sunlight.  Purpose recognizes purpose as the sword became _hers_ in every sense—a possession, a weapon, an extension of the self.  For a brief second, she cannot tell which being “she” is, the Yato or Corrin

    “Impossible.”  

_“The princeling is incredulous; so doubtful.”_

        “Corrin, do you know what this means?”  

_“The jealous sky knight, too.”_

            “Corrin are you listening?  Can you h-hear us?”

_“She’s not really processing what’s happened, the poor dear…”_

 

  The wedding complete, the voice in her sword retreats fully into the background, she is only Corrin again.  The dragon princess opens her mouth to respond but at that very moment the emerald blur, Kaze, comes sprinting towards them faster than a shooting star.  Even before he draws close words spill out of his mouth.  “My lord! The border” he pauses for breath, limbs quake ever so slightly as he kneels before his liege “Nohrian forces are massing at the border, they intend to march!”  Ryoma’s eyes harden into knives

    “This is the final straw.  We have worked to avoid all-out war but after this…  Death is too good for these dogs, who is with me?!”  It is a rally that is taken up by all there—however haltingly—save two.

 

  Azura finds Corrin’s shaking hands and grasps them tight.  “I can’t.”  Corrin whimpers “I can’t fight, what if-” Azura’s voice lost none of its soft, chiding comfort after all the pain and chaos that happened, now all of it is directed towards her friend.

    “Shhh, I understand.  If I were in your position, I would feel like you do now.  Neither you nor I wish for further bloodshed but should it happen, I will follow you, not them.”

        “But I’m a Monster!  Look what I did to you!  If I were to lose control again I…  I don’t know what I would…”  If she had water left for tears, they would come falling down her face.

    “You are no monster Corrin, no more than I.”  Twisted brows and questions are cut off by her low, peaceful voice as it continues “This is because of your special connection to the blood of Dragons.  Now that I know this, I can fashion you a talisman, a way to temper the burning of your blood and allow you to stay _you_ while transformed.”  Azura smiles her confident smile “Until then I will be there to calm you should your rage become too much—everyone always says my lullabies are the best.”

        Corrin breaks down and embraces the watery princess “They are.  Thank you, I don’t know what I would do without you.  I just, I feel…  Safe when I’m around you.  I want to make sure you stay safe, which is why I’m going to find a way to end this so none of our siblings will hurt each other and make us cry.”

    “Ok Corrin,  I believe in you.  Let us go, together, and end this.”

 

  They caught the tail end of the hastily mobilized army—columns of soldiers dressed and armed almost faster than humanly possible considering it had been less than an hour since the attack.  Azura is still without a weapon but she had said there was no time to find her one, they had to march alongside the army.  By the time the sun was setting the two forces met; scouts clashed and reported the other’s position and soon both forces began to array themselves on plains of verdant green flecked with subtle tints of rich soil.  Banners fly and shouts marshal either side into professional battle lines, Corrin is completely lost.  No one shouted a charge yet but that tension is visible in the air, all it would take is an errant spark and the whole thing would go up in blood and fire.

  An arm tugs on hers—Azura guiding the way—and she follows it through the press of bodies.  Both sides placed themselves on opposing hills, strong tactics if the books Corrin had read so long ago were right.  Flags flutter meaningfully in the light summery breeze; soldiers shuffle in their places, gripping shafts and hilts tight, itching for a fight.  A mounted figure, black under the burning rays, moves to the front of the Nohrian line.  Before Corrin can consciously decide she is moving, sprinting, down the cloddy ground into the center of the impending fight.

    “WAAAAAAIT!!”

 

  Heads turn in astonishment, all of them exclaiming in unison “Corrin?!”  Everyone comes running, shouting orders to “Hold Fire!” or “Halt!”  She ends up halfway between each set of siblings, all of them hesitant, unsure if anything is real now.

    “Corrin, you’re alive!  They haven’t harmed you, have they?”  Xander sounds the closest to tears she has ever seen him.

        The dragon princess regains her breath “Xander!  What are you doing here?  Why are you invading Hoshido?!”

    “Father says it is time we show the world our true strength.  Join us Little Princess, we can end this cleanly—defeat them here and now so that we may avoid later bloodshed.”  She winces

        “Xander…”

            Ryoma shouts, appalled, at such a declaration and it shows in his voice. “Be careful Corrin!  That man is the enemy commander, do not listen to his lies.”

 

  Before more threats and posturing could happen, Corrin is crushed under the weight of Camilla and Elise as they break formation utterly to hug every inch they can of her.  

    “Oh Corrin, I was so worried!”  Camilla openly sobs “Don’t you ever wander from me again!”

        “Yaaaaaay!”  Elise nearly throttles the leg she wrapped herself around “We got our sister back!”  Even Leo looks relieved; stress, tension and fear melting from his face as a smile emerges.

            “You have the devil’s own luck, Corrin.”  

 

  This tearful—if slightly painful—reunion is shattered, however.  Hinoka, fiery as her hair, spits daggers laced with disgust and contempt at them.

    “Nohrian scum!  First you kidnap her, now you _lie_ to her?!  Corrin is MY sister, not yours!”  Camilla scoffs

        “You’re mistaken, Corrin is _my_ precious little sister.  You may not have her.”  Her tone makes it clear she thinks the Hoshidan princess lacks the capability to be a “proper” older sister, her eyes drive the point home.

    “Do not be fooled by their words!  You belong with your true family in Hoshido!”  The Crown Prince’s visage is one of barely contained rage.

        “We have loved you and raised you since you were a child.”  Xander words seem filled with longing, yearning for a life that once was “Come home, little princess.  We can live as a whole family once more!”

 

  The harsh light beats down on the scene, it’s heat like a dry summer’s day.  Each army now forced to become witnesses to a family struggle that can, at a word, end their own.  The tension is a blanket, covering the entirety of the players, yet the two royal families seem not to notice as they squabble louder and louder.

    “Your home is in Hoshido!”

        “No, it is in Nohr!”

              “This way!”

                  “No!  This way!”

                      “Big sister…”

                          “No!  She’s _my_ Big Sister!”

 

  Like a chorus, each of them cries out in perfect unison; a crescendo of different choices

**“We’re your family.”**

 

_No.  No no no, nononononono…  Ryoma, Hinoka, Takumi, Sakura, they’re my family—my blood.  But Xander and Camilla and Leo and Elise they… They took care of me—I love them so much, they’re also my family.  How can I choose?  Why do you make me choose?!_

    “I… I”

  She could end this war, here and now.  Save her mother’s land in a decisive victory in the hopes that Xander can keep his promise, fight their horrible father for justice even if it’s by the sword.  She could bring peace and prosperity to a world ravaged by a war so ancient no one cares anymore about the original cause, sweep through Nohr like the cleansing fire it needs backed up by the resources to make it a lasting reality.  

She steps back, away.

  She could fight for the side of right.  Follow her blood-family in defending their homeland from invaders who, while not all bad, sanction terrible things in the name of “victory.”  She could play a dangerous game of never telling them why she won’t kill her enemies, hoping they understand when the smoke clears.  It would be a desperate fight against Garon’s tyranny but with the hope that, with her guidance, it can be done without getting any of her siblings—on either side—killed.

Another step back.

_How can I choose?  I love them both!_ She’s now out of their reach, the feeling of everyone grasping at her—trying to hold her tight.   _Why can’t everyone just sit down and sort this all out?  I’m sure Xander would listen to me about the horrible things Garon has done.  He would, he’s an amazing man.  He wouldn’t have anything to do with this… right?_ Their faces _—oh Gods their faces—_ each becoming more and more pained the longer she deliberates, pros and cons battling back and forth like the inevitable battle that only her decision barely holds at bay.   _There has to be a way, a way where this can get resolved without tearing my families apart alongside our countries._

_Think, Corrin, THINK!_

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a pole:  
> "How many of ya'll look at Takumi and can only picture Anakin from the prequels? Not the Clone Wars, just the movies."


	11. A Third Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...There was no 'good' option, she did what she thought was best.
> 
> Time will tell if she's right."

“I… I won’t betray anyone.”

  It’s her voice, Corrin realizes.  She tries to form the next line, the next inspirational speech to turn every soldier to her side—to make her family whole.  Words swim away from her questing fingers as she desperately tries to line up a coherent argument into paragraphs and sentences.   She’s flailing in the uncertainty of her mind _—is this really the best choice?  Will they listen to me?—_ possibilities and consequences filling up every available space left to her.  Her hand grips the Yato and like before, certainty stills the raging sea of her mind.  The words come after eons of conflict.

    “I won’t fight against the people of Nohr after you cared for me for all those years.  You and Camilla and Leo and Elise…  We may not be related by blood but you are family to me.  You were always there for me, I don't know if I ever said it enough but, I love you.”

        “Well said, little princess.”  Each of their faces lights up with the blinding rays of hope fulfilled.  “What ties us together is thicker than blood.”

            “What are you saying Corrin?”  Ryoma’s eyes plead like a dying puppy “You would discard your true family to stand with those who stand against us?”

    “No!  I refuse to fight my Hoshidan siblings either.  Ryoma” She falters a little after her automatic response.  “We may not have spent much time together but I know, deep down in the part of me that remembers, that you are my family too.  You, Hinoka, Takumi and Sakura…  I don’t want to fight you on this or any other battlefield!”  Wrinkled brows relax slightly

            “You know we feel the same Corrin.”

    “But I can’t side with either of you against the other.  I refuse to hurt any of my family.”  All eyes are on her.

        “Corrin, then what are you-”

            “-going to do?”

 

  The two princes draw the other’s gaze as each finish the same sentence—linked by a mutual understanding, if only for a moment.  “I’m sorry, both of you.”  She stretches out her hands, beckoning both Crown Princes to her “Please, set aside your swords, I’m sure a peaceful solution exists if we could just-”

    Xander sighs “I can see what you are trying to accomplish, Corrin, and it is noble, but as your older brother it is my duty to teach you the truth of the world.  Come.”

        “Not while I stand!  Corrin is finally back with her family…  I will not let you take her from us again!”

_Why don’t they listen?_

    “I won’t ever let you take my precious Corrin away from me!  You’ll have to go through my dead body before you even THINK about touching her!”

_Why can’t I get through to them?_

        “Yeah right!  I bet the only reason she ever said you were her sister was because you put a spell on her!  You Nohrian scum are all the same, taking what isn’t yours!”

“Enough!”

    “Look who’s talking!?  All the Hoshidans have ever done is think everything’s yours by right, it’s a wonder you haven’t conquered the whole world by now!”

        “That’s a load of crap and you know it!”

            “Y-yeah!  All we want to d-do is h-help…”

_“WHY WON’T YOU LISTEN TO ME?!”_

    “Then why don’t you help us?!  Everyone’s starved and all you’ve done is become fat off the land; you never help!  We’ve had to _fight_ for every scrap we could get!”

        “And by ‘fight’ you mean conquer and enslave those who can’t fight back!  You've never had to fight in your entire lives!  Bullies are the same everywhere…”

 

  The bickering overlaps into a cacophony of old wounds and baseless assumptions—nobody’s listening anymore.  Corrin wordlessly pleads to the heavens in frustration, her cries just one more layer of the discordant, familial symphony.  Ryoma cuts the fog with his sword, deafening silence flowing like a shockwave from the tip of his crackling blade.

    “Do not think for a moment that I will let you take Corrin without a fight.”  Xander’s hand moves to his own sword

        “It seems only right to cross blades with my opposing equal.  As the heirs of our respective families, shall we settle this here and now?”

    “Prepare yourself, then.  I will defeat you in defense of my kingdom and my sister!”

 

  Everyone scatters as the two begin their duel, heated and deadly to any within range.  Corrin’s crying as she runs, shedding strips of her innocence in the salty drops, each hitting the fertile ground that’s soon to run red with blood.  She doesn’t see how Sakura has to be led away by Hinoka, how Takumi fires an arrow only to miss in his undirected anger, how Camilla sprints, holding the kicking and screaming Elise, and the only thing keeping her from breaking down is their surroundings.  Someone sounds a horn—bloodshed calls.  The air fills with howls and whoops, with kicked up dirt and notched arrows set free at long last.  Battle is joined in the evening crimson and orange, purples and blues shading the beautiful clouds in picturesque beauty as the first insides are spilt upon the virgin ground.

  Corrin barely makes it to cover in the treeline at the edge of the fighting, her stressed frame leaning on a trunk to regains her stamina.  She wails

    “What am I gonna doooooooo!”

        “Corrin…”  Azura’s gentle voice startles the princess

    “Azura?!  What are you-?”

        “I said I would follow you over anyone else, so here I am.  I am sorry I could not join you on the field but…  My presence would have just made things worse.”  Corrin slumps until her butt touches the hard hump of roots

    “They’re all fighting, over _me_.  I just wanted them to stop!  Sit down, talk a little!  We gotta do something to get them to stop this madness before it’s too late.”

        “We will think of something, Corrin, together.  Dry your eyes before they hinder you for the fight ahead of us now.”

    “Gee thanks Azura, more fighting and killing is _just_ what I wanted.”  

 

  Corrin’s mind races, all the years spent reading, cramming so much into her head, there has to be something of use.  Crimson eyes scan the chaos, strings pull at her from long-lost recesses inside her mind— _this place, this battle, it seems all too familiar somehow…  There!_  Her grin as a plan springs to mind is devious, maniacal even.

    “Ok, see those flags nearest to us?  Those are command flags—the standard denotes the position of a company commander—they let the strategists know their position or if the unit has fallen.  We hit the two nearest ones and bring their flags over here; it’ll be odd enough for our siblings to notice… provided they aren’t already dead.”  The thought chills her despite the pleasant warmth of the evening, finding any of them dead… it would kill her more than any blade ever could.

        “Ok, I follow you.  Whom shall we target first?”

    “Nohrian.  It’ll give us more time to hit the Hoshidan one if the other side is in disarray…”  

 

  The dispassion in her voice jolts Corrin.  

_Am I a stone-cold killer now?  Am I so inured to death that the sight of battle does nothing to me?_

 

  Training kicks such questions to the back of her mind, _think one task ahead_.  

    “First we need to get you a weapon.”

        “I will figure something out.  Let us make haste, the longer this battle goes on the more lives will be senselessly lost.”  

 

  The sapphire haired princess nods, time is of the essence now.  The two dash for the Nohrian lines at a dead sprint.  They get closer—the sounds of death ringing, overpowering in their ears—bodies and blood litter the ground as they approach.  Everything just looks like a giant, bloated, writhing worm made up of what must be hundreds—thousands perhaps—killing and dying for no reason.  Such a waste of human life, and for what?

  The company standard sits halfway up the hill, swaying in the wind.  Four guards, a maid and the commander.   _Wait, a maid?_  Corrin is spotted but too late, the guards still in the process of raising their shields when she leaps.  Timed perfectly, Corrin’s sword comes down upon the nearest helmet, knocking the first guard to the ground with a sickening thud.  Instinct guides her over as she brings the Yato up and behind the next guard to plant it in her side, blood trickling onto the edge.  Out and stabbing forward into the hip of the third her feet pirouette around the shocked Captain to backhand the final guard with the flat of the glimmering blade.  The arc she made ends an inch from the Captain’s neck, sweat nearly pooling on the blade.

    “Give me your flag.”  Canines flash to emphasize her point “I won’t ask twice.”

        “F-f-f-f-Felicia DO SOMETHING!  Help me!”

 

_Wait, Felicia?  But that was…_ The point becomes moot, however, the tip of a blade is already snugly wrapped in the Captain’s ribs.  

    “Lady Corrin!  Thank goodness you’re safe.”

        “Felicia?!  What are you doing here?  Why did you kill him!?”  Her maid pouts

    “Wow, what a fine greeting.  Here I was, sick out of my mind that you’d been captured or worse, and after having to serve this…  ‘person’ just to come along to find you and all I get is a ‘what are you doing here?’  Why thank you, My Lady!”  She stops, thinks her words over, then flashes a wry smile as her head bows “It’s good to see you m’lady, I’ve missed you and I’m overjoyed you’re safe.  Now what are you doing here and who is that?”

        Corrin blinks for a few seconds, stunned into silence, but as her maid finished the years of composure come flowing back.  “Um…  Well it’s a long story but, short version?  Both royal families are my family and I can’t bear to fight them so I’m trying to stop the battle by making off with these banners.”  A pause “It’s good to see you too, Felicia.  This is the former princess of Nohr, her name’s Azura.”  Sheepish smile meets downcast eyes in reassurance.

    “Well, your goals are always my goals m’lady, so I’ll follow you through death and back.  What’s the next step?”

        An idea hits the new leader of this burgeoning band “For now, you stay here.  We’re going to head over to the other side and take out their commander.  When we make off with the flag you follow us to the treeline, sound good?”  There was no pause

    “Yes!  Anything for you, Lady Corrin.”

        “Right, thank you Felicia, you’re always here for me and I…  Alright, I’m off, take care.”  The two princesses sprint off with Azura snatching a spear from one of the moaning guards.  Felicia waves them goodbye.

 

  Halfway done and one ally gained in their struggle for peace, the two heroines make for the trees to begin their next assault.  Corrin starts slowing down, so desperate was she to end this battle that the sturdy princess had put too much energy into the opening sprint, she's almost spent.  Her friend senses this and turns towards her in worry.  “Here, let me.”  Before Corrin could brush it off and struggle through the fatigue Azura is upon her, hands finding her burning cheeks.  She began humming, a wordless song Corrin doesn’t exactly recognize but it certainly works.  Tendrils of water flow out of a gourd at the songstress’s side, making their journey over, around, and through Corrin.  Every place they touch, muscles relax, weariness and tension banished to the four winds.  Even the pounding of her heart slows to its normal rate as Azura finishes the stanza, eyes opening to peer into Corrin’s.

  Having so much happen in the past day Corrin doesn’t even bat an eyelash, _process later, survive now._  Unfamiliar booms echo from further down the line and are soon accompanied by firework displays of magic—things are heating up, possibly literally.  They start their sprint for the Hoshidan flag as the battle lines ebb and wane from the initial, heated collision.  She can’t bear to pay attention to anything but her objective, it’s all too sickeningly familiar to the point where she doesn’t feel like she needs to look to know; everything is just replaying the same dream over and over and over and-  

  Something is off with this flag, however.  As they get closer Corrin realizes what it is—no one’s guarding it, there’s no company commander to be seen either.

_Had there ever been one or was this a trap?_   _No time to think, need to move._   _Grab the flag, get out of there_ fast _._

 

  The flag pole’s not worth it so she cuts it off at the halfway point and books it; no one stops her.  Across the way, Felicia sees them, grabs the Nohrian one and at frightening speeds makes for the treeline as well.

_Hopefully this will work_ , Corrin thinks with a thumbnail between her teeth.  The three women, now concealed within the trees, watch, waiting in the hopes Corrin’s gambit plays out the way it’s supposed to.  The first sign is the confusion; one soldier sees what’s wrong and tells another, then another until both lines start to waver and break, fleeing for the safety of the hills.  Soon come the horns, calls for retreat sounded down the crush, causing the official scrabble to be first to escape and last to die—it’s not pretty.

 Her plan had worked.  Corrin motions for Felicia to hand her the flag then hide again; she would meet her siblings alone.  She stands, alone, with two opposing nations’ flags fluttering in the dusk breeze, a bold stratagem indeed.  Seconds trickle into minutes as no one dares breath and the tension becomes tighter and thicker in the air.  Atop their respective hills two figures move to meet the third-party interlopers—the Crown Princes themselves, each a storm in their own right.

    “Why Corrin?  Why would you turn on us like this?  I know we are not blood related but do you feel no loyalty to Nohr at all?”

        “Corrin…  Why have you betrayed Hoshido?  Have you lost all sense of justice?”  She takes a deep breath, ample air for loud voices.  

            “You don’t understand, I haven’t betrayed you, either of you!  I just wanted you to stop fighting and _listen_!”  They clearly don’t

        “Even now I still feel the agony I felt the day you were kidnapped.  I know we cannot get back the time we lost but… I had hoped someday we could be a family again…  I see now this was but a fantasy.”  She winces, tears welling up

            “Ryoma I-”

    “I… I had always considered you my sister…  Damn it all! If you will not join us, I have no choice.”   

            “Xander what are you-”

 

  Before she can really argue an arrow made of pure magic flies into her shoulder— _Gods it hurt so much!_  She has to run, escape before she’s killed without accomplishing _anything_ to end this Gods-forsaken war, before it kills everything she holds dear.

 

  They had been running for a while now, enough for all of them to tire and slow to a stop.  They were all panting, somewhat—Azura was downright wheezing but Felicia looked like she had barely broken a sweat.  Corrin can't—won't—acknowledge the ice stuck right through her shoulder, not yet.  Her teeth clench automatically.

    “Whew.”  Azura’s sweet voice comes out in false starts as she staggers against a nearby tree “While we managed to escape, although I am positive they will still be on our trail, we cannot leave things the way they are now—we will be branded as traitors by _both_ kingdoms at this rate.  Listen to me, Corrin, you will lose everything if you do not choose a side, it must be either Hoshido or Nohr.”  The other two are silent, the realization finally sinking in alongside the combat fatigue and the desire to retch.  Corrin spits out phlegm and flecks of blood, glaring at her friend

        “No.  I refuse to side with either, that’s my side.”

    “But…  Why?”

        “I have family in Hoshido, but I also have family in Nohr.”  She shakes her head “Even if I were to lose everything, even if all of them end up despising me, I won’t willingly choose to side with one against the other.  I can’t, I won’t!  Agh, I don’t care if I lose everything, I won’t fight them; that’s what I’ve decided.”

    Azura sighs, although there seems to be a smile concealed within it.  “I see…  You have been willing to risk much to accomplish something major…  I suppose you are right.  Maybe I have become too biased.  My mother died trying to protect Nohr, I should look to her courage.  She fought for the people she loved, as do you, despite the odds; I would be remiss if I did not support you however I can.”

        “Azura”  Corrin's sighs are like the rickety gallows “Thank you.”

 

  The bushes rustle and everyone takes a desperate ready stance, tense to the danger.  What comes out is the opposite of danger, however, it’s Lilith—still in her usual clothes with the bonnet covering some of her long, Sapphire hair.  Her pretty face holds a smile both warm and sure of itself.  “Lilith, is that YOU?!?”  Corrin and Felicia hit the same beats word for word as their best friend/coworker somehow found them after so much.  

    “That I am, why?”  Corrin launches herself into her best friend’s arms to tackle her flat onto the ground in sheer tear-ridden jubilation.

        “What are you doing here?  Why are you here? How?!”

    “Well Corrin, don’t tell anyone, but I ran away.”  Her giggles soon join Corrin’s as they embrace after so long.  “We can catch up later, ok?  They’re on our trail but I know a place, a little hideaway we can use to rest up.  Come on!”

 

  Leaving no room for questions, Lilith is out of Corrin’s grasp and moving, waving for them to follow her.  They have no choice but to comply.

  


  It’s a cave.  Dug into the sheer face of one of the Canyon’s outermost mountains is a small, natural hidey-hole for those seeking solitude or relative anonymity.  Lilith had brought plenty of food with her—the perks of premeditated defection—and broke out enough for everyone to have a decent meal.  Now safe enough to talk, to ask, Lilith turn to eye her companions.

    “Right, ok, questions!  Fire away.”  Lilith’s golden slits are bright and cheery.

 

  Seeing as how Felicia has a sewing needle in her mouth, Corrin asks first “Why are you here?”

    The sapphire and ruby maid sighs “Ok, so I’m here because I love you a lot silly, you’re my sister!”  This gets a weird look from Azura as she stirs the pot so Lilith meets her gaze “I mean, I grew up with her, so we might as well be.  Anyway!  As for how, Azura, I’d gotten locked up by Garon” Felicia gasps, her brows lifting in utter horror “but I got let out by a kind somebody—not telling who, spoils the fun—and figured you’d been double-crossed and captured over here, so I went over the border to look for you.  Seems you needed me after all, huh?”

 

  Something seems off for Felicia because she raises her elbow—the hand being occupied holding some cloth to Corrin's shoulder.  “Ummm Lilith, why are you talking like that?”  Both Corrin and Lilith fail to contain their laughter.

    “This is how-”

        “-I normally talk."  Corrin squeaks an "ow" out while Lilith continues "I put on the formal when everyone else is around ‘cus it’s all ‘proper’ and whatnot.  Not even Garon and all his whips could fix _this_ little habit.”  She prods her breast proudly, a cocksure grin going from ear to ear.  She hands Azura another potato

            “So what shall we do next?  We are safe for now but what about later?”  Corrin puts her free fingers to her bandage in thought

    “Well, we should look for a way to get food for one thing.  Know where the nearest town is anyone?”

        “Nearest’s about two hours, tops.”  

    “Well then.”  The weary princess claps her hand to her knee making her maid jump a little “We go from there then!  In the meantime I need your help with the whole ‘dragon rampage’ thing; Azura, you said you had an idea?”

                "Wait, a dragon?"

            The azure singer looks to her friend, tired but still there enough to think.  “Well, I will need a shard of your scales for one.  After that I just have to make the charm and attune it to you.”

                "I'm done, Corrin..."

 

  What a surprise when, as Corrin opened her mouth to suggest going out and turning into a dragon to do this, Lilith digs out a gleaming piece of something silver.  “Looking for this?”

    “How did you-”  

        “Let’s just say I had my reasons to keep a piece from a long time ago.”

 

  Azura’s eyes become slits of piercing inquiry but the former stable-hand remains imperceptible under her gaze, the matter drops.  The songstress grumbles but sleep is needed and soon, she might as well begin later since they’re definitely not going anywhere for a little while.

    “Well, I’ll take first watch.”  Corrin yawns “We’ll need it.”

        “Just don’t go for too long, ok?  Wake me when you’re done so I can take second shift.  Felicia’s already asleep so she should take third and Azura can grab last watch so at least they’ll be more awake than us.  Sound good for everyone?”  Lilith doesn’t really get a response either way.

 

It’s shaping up to be a long and fitful night for all of them.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now back to the regularly scheduled programming...
> 
> -Izzi


	12. Paralogue 1: Anna on the Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The first chapter of our heroine's real journey for the truth begins! New players will take to the stage and one in particular will rock her heart to its very foundations. Will the princess be able to gather those needed to stop this terrible war in time? Will she be able to find a decent breakfast?
> 
> Love might hurt, but this time it's worth the bit of pain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here's the first Paralogue and the introduction to everyone's favorite secret seller, Anna. I like the original mission from the game but, since I wanted her to join early as to give Anna more time to flesh herself out and be much more of an active participant in the plot and not a legacy character, I fiddled with it(and her) a bit. Teehee!  
> Other than that there's not much more to say really, I hope this is a chapter ya'll like.

  The morning came too soon, bursting through Corrin’s eyelids so intensely it’s as if she’s looking directly at the sun.  Her whole body is numb, sore from sleeping on rough-hewn rock, her neck aches something fierce.  She rises, albeit with massive amounts of complaining and groaning, and surveys her surroundings; Lilith is curled up around an outcropping, Felicia soundly snoring with her arms around Corrin’s leg, and Azura asleep at her post with the Hoshidan flag wrapped around her for warmth.  Everything’s safe and quiet.

  Her leg carefully disentangled from Felicia’s needy arms, she shuffles towards the entrance to wake the sleeping sentry.  There’s something in Azura’s hand, a necklace with a chain hooked into a shard, her shard.  It sings to Corrin, wishes to become hole once more after so long and how could she ignore her own body?  Fingers grasp, pull-push as the harmony grows louder with the prospect of joining its melody after years and years of singing alone.  She reaches to push the scale back within her skin, join it with the arm, but no, no it needs to go somewhere else; it clinks around her neck, a clasp made for that very reason.  She’s beautiful, with rainbow reflections in the jagged edges playing waltzes across Corrin’s eyes, she’s meant to be with her.  As it hums upon her breast, she feels it meet and rejoin with her until the draconic princess can’t tell the difference—an instrument incorporated back into the greater symphony.

  While Corrin is entertaining such wonderous music, Azura awoke, the needy pull at the necklace enough to bring her up from the depths of sleep.  By the time Corrin is aware enough to notice, Azura already wears this cute, knowing grin across her face.  “What?”

    “Oh nothing, you just looked funny.” 

 

  Her giggling and coy evasion prompts the draconic princess’s ire and Corrin starts a long, drawn-out tickle fight meant to end all tickle fights.  The epic battle is so fierce that it wakes their compatriots, both of whom are _not_ pleased…  Once a ceasefire is enforced by a quite frumpled Felicia, the merry band sits down to decide what to do with their day.

    “First thing’s first, we need food.”  Felicia perks up

        “Well, I still have some money.”  Azura and Corrin check their bags and agree that they, too, have a little gold left over from the festival

    “The closest town’s about two hours walk, up for it?”  Lilith mentions; none of them are but they have no meaningful choice in the matter.

 

  The village has a name, they suppose, not that any of them know what it is; the sign directing them down the byway only had an arrow and a vague distance number to guide them.  “So what’s this supposed to do?”  Corrin holds her scale up to the light, still marveling at it. 

    “It is known as a Dragonstone.  They are unique foci from long, long ago, made from a part of the bearer’s true draconic form to channel their raging blood without losing themselves to its corruptive influence.  With this on you at all times you should have no fear of going mad with emotion and forfeiting your humanity.”

        “Azura”  Corrin stops in her tracks “Why is my blood so special?  I don’t remember any of my siblings carrying anything like this…”

    The water princess seems to pause, unsure of something or possibly unwilling to divulge a secret “I…  Cannot say.  Mayhaps there was something Mikoto kept hidden from us all, some reason for why you possess this and the others do not?  I have no such answers for you, Corrin, truly.”

 

  Corrin’s eyes darken, knowing her friend will not be pushed further whether she spoke the truth or not.  Instead, she changes topics, opting to catch the others up with all that had happened rather than press her—already sour—luck.  As the squad’s destination comes into view, however, everyone falls silent; what they see sets all of them on edge.  Rubble, sticks, bamboo planks and stones strewn willy-nilly as if a windstorm had landed right in the center of the one street town; an utter chaotic mess—what’s worse is the screaming people, villagers making what break they could for the hills from whatever villains menaced their home.  Blades drawn, everyone save Lilith bolts for the epicenter, the sapphire haired woman preferring to watch rather than fight.

    “Urrr!”  Flailing about the center of town are two burly hunks of men, one sporting an obviously dyed pink mohawk while the other looks identical to the speaker save for his shaved blond scalp.  They seem to be searching for something—if swinging their huge axes at everything to cross their path counted as “searching.” 

        “Did that scurvy runt turn up anywhere, Llewelyn?”  The pink-haired ruffian talks like too many of his teeth had been knocked out while dislocating his jaw. 

    “Ablast, I’ve not, Lloyd.”  The blond paused his mowing to properly address his doppelganger “I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of her.” 

        “Mow me over, Llewelyn, obviously if she’s a-hidin’ you’ll see no hair!”   _For people so focused on their musculature_ , Corrin marvels, _this Lloyd seems to possess enough brain power to match._ “Quit bein’ so hairbrained or I’ll skin yer hide, shiver me flinders!”

 

 _They talk just like pirates out of those stories!_   It’s almost a dream come true for her, all it needs is a dashing hero and some open water and…

    “Sorry Lloyd.  Swear on our mum’s litter I only took my eyes off her for a second…”

        “How does that scuttlebutt keep hogtying us?  Like she be in many places at once!”

 

  Just then the dashing hero, all dressed in red, emerges from behind a barrel—no, not a hero, a heroine.  Beautiful red hair tied behind her head, flowing locks framed by her deep red cloak; truly the epitome of swashbuckling style in Corrin’s eyes.  Something, however, gives the princess pause, the heroine of this story looks familiar…  The mystery woman shrugs her shoulders and sighs at the two hunks.

    “Give it up now boys and save yourselves the trouble.  I can run rings ‘round you and you know it.”  That grin oozes skill.

        “Urrr!  She’s right my brother.  We’d need the whole pirate _crew_ to pin her down!”

            “Lucky for us, is it not brother, that we have such a hearty crew on call?  She’ll go on recount before high noon—I swear on Janky Sheet!”

    The mystery woman bears a look of utter disdain “Ugh, ‘go on recount’? ‘shiver me flinders’?  Even ‘Urr’? You lot are the _worst_ excuse for ‘pirates’ I’ve ever heard.  Why, you don’t even know Shanty Pete’s real name!”

 

 _What daring!_   Corrin feels like she could watch this woman work all day and never get bored; the fact that they are standing in the middle of a terrorized village seems to have slipped Corrin’s mind with all this talk of pirates—no matter how fake they really were.  What brings her diving back to reality is the appearance of quite the number of swarthy ‘gentlemen’ all of whom rather resemble the ones being menaced by the rakish red rogue. 

    “Meet Llars, Llucas, Llincoln, Llogan, Lleland and Llamar.”

        “Oh and don’t forget Llouis, Llyle, Lliam, Lluther, Llester an’ Tom.”

    “The whole family’s turned out, just for you!  Can’t run circles round us if you’re in one, amiright lads?”

            The cocksure smile wanes now, her eyes flicking from opponent to identical opponent—except Tom, he looks nothing like his brothers.  “Heheh.  It’s unsettling how much you resemble each other—not that I’m one to talk, mind…”

    “Yoo hoo hoo!  Then you’ll fit right in!  It’s a pirate’s life for you my little scrubbinwag.”

            “It’s ‘yo ho ho’ not-ugh…  You know what, whatever, my prices ain’t cheap sweetheart.”  She pulls a bow from somewhere on her “If you can’t pay the fee then why are you window shopping?  Get lost!” 

 

  Her voice had changed, lost what was evidently an affect and became something much more familiar to Corrin’s ears, _but from where?_   No time to ponder, the dashing swashbuckler was now rather outnumbered and in need of a stunning entrance.  A wild grin spreads across the dragon princess’s face, _this is too good to be true!_  As the gang of men press in on the redhead Corrin springs into the air and _grows_.  Horns like the branches of a tree sprout out of her scalp as her steely wings unfurl into sails for her to float on.  That odd pressure in her throat she had felt before was back but this time it felt pleasant, oddly warm even, as she let it gather and flow up her esophagus to tickle the backs of her teeth, bringing a metallic taste to her tongue.  Her legs extend and bend back like a horse’s but with her hook-claws instead of hooves, ready to swipe and rend the flesh of her enemies.  Her whip like tail snakes its way out from her armor to hang low in the sky, ready to help balance her when she returns to the ground.

  She let the rolling power build up a little more in her mouth, savoring the feeling for a second more, before unleashing it upon the unsuspecting faux pirates.  It looks like how she imagines liquid silver would if mixed with an eerie, shadowy water; she loves it.  Like a bubble, Corrin blows the sphere of excess energy towards the nearest clump of brothers; it shatters upon the back of the central foe, exploding outwards in a display of raw power from the epicenter.  Crashing into the ground the first target’s soon joined by his brethren, launched this way and that by the explosion.  She’d gotten their attention sure enough.

  Claws gripping the Yato she falls to meet her foes head on, like a proper dragon should.  Her companions, mute in witness to her glory, stand stock still as her blade sinks into the shoulder of her newest victim, the weight sending them both downwards.  Crimson eyes raise to meet her next foe but it’s too late, the big man already has his axe in motion, connecting with Corrin’s side in a sickening crunch and sending her flying into the battered remains of a wall.  Felicia charges first, her throwing knife already embedding itself in the dastardly pirate’s throat with a gurgling croak and wet splurches.  Azura, pain written across her face, flies to attend her injured friend only to find Corrin already up and on her feet, wild grin still wide and wanting on her bloody face. 

  Not even waiting for Azura, she charges back into the fray, leaping over a falling ruffian with an arrow in his chest.  Now Corrin doesn’t have to fear, she can revel in the battle to her blood’s fullest enjoyment.  Hearing the screams of the injured and the defeated as she stabs shoulders and cuts tendons is wonderful after such a long time of doubt— _this_ is where she belongs, in the madness and the mud.  All her training in Nohr lets her move, unthinking, from opponent to opponent and take in the battle with lust-filled eyes.  Some better part of dragon princess’s mind reminds her that not only was there a reason for this but a method to the madness that must be upheld, rules that must be followed. 

  The red vixen is leaping off the shoulders of one giant and shooting another in the knee—while maybe not as graceful as Corrin she looks infinitely better than she really is in the princess’s eyes.  The way the swashbuckler knows just where everything was on the battlefield and uses it to her advantage is wondrous to the longtime lover of dramatic fiction.  To Corrin, this was all her fictitious idols rolled into one delicious woman.  _Wait, delicious?_

  The biggest of them, Tom, suddenly shifts Corrin’s whole worldview, fists in prayer above his head.  He brings his answer down from the heavens and onto Corrin’s back, crashing down face first into the dirt.  She could take another hit, maybe…  Probably not.  She sees his foot lift up out of her vision, this will be the end and she can’t even try to avert it.  She doesn’t want to die—dizzy sight, dry muddy mouth, weak limbs and befuddled brain

_Need. To. MOVE!_

  All she can do is roll to the side, face skyward to see the inevitable come down, but it never does.  What faculties aren’t spinning try to look for the answer but only find a resounding, earthshaking _thud_ for her clue.  The sun beats down on the mud and the dirt and the knocked down bamboo houses, Corrin’s eyes can’t quite see with the blinding light tinting the whole world bright white-yellow.  Sounds of battle still make her ears ring but the imminent death she saw coming mere moments before hasn’t struck home nor is it looming, gloating its victory over her soon-to-be corpse.  Time stretches on as she bakes under the near-midday sun, after that pounding, she finds little strength to do more.

  Dark clouds veil the sun, _is this the end?_   Corrin still spins, unable to change her fate but something was… off.  The shadow eclipsing her world looked a fair sight smaller than a bulging man or his gigantic foot.  It’s definitely person shaped, slender shadow hands playing tricks across her vision, waving back and forth like a puppet play.  She feels a buzzing in her ear  _Hey, hey._

_“Hey!”_

_“You ok there luv?_   Seems you took quite the pounding _… …. …_   _means I_ owe _you now…”_   _Muzzy…  Who?_  

        “I did?”  Her torso is lifted up, more buzzing but it’s starting to clear.

    “Yeah.  Seems you got a nasty bump on the head now, _world still spinning for ya?"_   Shades of color come into focus

        “Yeah…”  _Brown trousers and…  Red cape?_ The contrast of light and shadow make colors a difficult prospect. 

    “Take your time hun, I’ll be here.”

 

  Corrin hears what sounds like footfalls, _oh no_.  Her assumed savior doesn’t move, so maybe these are the good kind…

    “m’Lady!”

        “Corrin!”

            “Oh, Corrin!”

  Soon her whole world is darkness  “Give her space!”  Her savior’s smooth affectation chides “Poor dear’s had a nasty crack, she needs air.”  Sunlight again, so wonderfully composed with more silhouettes on her periphery.  Time passes once more—Corrin can’t say for certain how long—but as she comes to the sun seems to have barely moved, that’s a good sign.

    “Ohhhhhhhh…” 

 

  Her skull pounds harder than a drum on her brain.  Corrin’s body feels a little like leftover lamb stew but it seems able to support her weight, for now, so she crawls to a sitting position.  Fuzzy _déjà vu_ tolls of being like this before on top of a tower… her tower.  Her surroundings wobble on their axis a little but the world refuses to seriously spin just yet.  Bodies and groans pass by her pointy ears and unwashed man-fug seeps into her acute nose.  She retches but, lacking substantial breakfast, comes up dry.  Hands move to comfort her, protect her and surround her in their shady warmth.  She finishes. 

    “Is everyone… ok?”  She hucks empty air

        “We are fine Corrin, rest now.”  _Azura’s voice never seems to fail her, I wonder why…_

    “No.  No, I’ll be ok if I stay here…  Did we-”

            “If you’re wondering ‘bout me, I’m peachy! Thanks for the thought though.”  The voice is so serene, it’s a wonder they were even in a fight at all listening to her talk.  “You gave those louts a right thrashing.  I’m in your debt by leagues.”  The adorable face with its hazel eyes and crimson hair comes into frame, plump lips upturned in a grin.  “I’m-”

 

 _“Anna!”_  Her name exits Corrin’s before she can think.  Anna’s face instantly sours into a pout. 

    “So you know about us…  Dammit, I wanted to be the first Anna you met!”

        “I, uh,” she gulps, “I’m Sorry?  Would you like me to start over?”

    “No…  Ugh, which ones did you meet?  Tell me it wasn’t Anna, she always steals my clients!”  The day is shaping up to be the most confusing one ever for the poor, concussed woman

        “Uhh…  Well, I met one in Windmire selling buns, then another one in Shirasagi Castle Town doing the same…  Were those-?”

    “Ah!  No, no no, those were some of my older sisters.  Anna is one of my younger sisters and a _real_ brat.”

 

  “Oh.”  Like the other Annas she’d met, this one is as chipper as the birds but seems more prone to flight than her more grounded elder sisters.  It sounds like Felicia is as lost as Corrin is if her quiet moan is any indication.

    “Anyways, you’re a DRAGON!  That’s _sooooo_ cool, I wish I could be a dragon.  Could I have some of your scales?  They’d make a _fortune!_ ”  Corrin can even see the gold piling up in her wide eyes.  “Not only that but they’re so-ya know?!  You must be descended from one of the First Dragons.  That. Is. So. _Cool!_ ” 

 

  She’s squealing and practically jumping from her sitting position in front of Corrin.  There’s a glint from around Anna’s ears as she bounces—earrings, small metal renders of a dragon in mid-flight stuck through the lobes of both ears.  It isn’t the first time Corrin’s seen earrings—Camilla sometimes wore diamond studs when she visited and Leo’s “secretly” had one ear pierced since she was ten—but this is first time they were _dragon_ themed ones!  “I know!” The cheery adventurer beams, still in her natural voice, gushing with admiration.

    “How about I join you.  I’m the best haggler you’ll ever meet outside my family and I’m pretty handy with the bow if I do say so myself.  Come on, you look like you’re on an adventure and I wanna be part of it!  Whaddya say?”

 

  Azura speaks before Corrin can assent.  “Only if you know where to find us a good meal for cheap.”

                 

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my image for Anna is she's trying to be like this world's version of Errol Flynn/Dread Pirate Roberts and sounds like Albert Campion and said Dread Pirate's love child. She's dashing, terrified, a consummate actor, with deft hands and a tendency to turn heads when she wants to be noticed; If she could grow one she would have a dashing mustache to complete the look.
> 
>  
> 
> Next Chapter: "The truth, it turns out, is much scarier than it seemed. How can she stop all this when the forces arrayed against her are so powerful? What can one woman, even with help, do against a god? The princess has cast off her shackles and forged her own path but when she is thrown into the abyss she must now find the wisdom to face it while keeping silent about its eldritch truths."


	13. Unspeakable World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s time for the curtain to be drawn back to reveal the inner workings of this drama. Our players have bucked the unfair chains of scripts and predestined action, now they have launched themselves feet first into the thundering sea.
> 
> But will it swallow them whole? Or is this sea but a mirror to another world where evils beyond all knowing lie?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the chapter where I wanted to have express more of Lilith as a combat force, rather than a cute and adorable mascot in a temple. Outside of the My Castle battles I don't think (nor can I find any instance of) Lilith fights. She's not a boss, not a party member, nothing; kinda small for the game's "mascot" character, right? I don't like that one bit!

  “Wait, WHAT?!”  They were sitting around a makeshift table in the torn down village, their meal spread out across Anna’s cape.  Corrin had gotten to the part of the story where she “betrayed” her siblings, something their newest member was having a hard time processing.  “Yup.”

    “Wow.  I mean, I’m all for it, don’t get me wrong, but” Anna whistles long and low “you've gotten  _way_ over your pretty head, huh.  So, what’s the next move, Lady Blueblood?”  Corrin goes red in the cheeks and her mouth starts, then stops, working

        “Umm…  I’m open to suggestions?”

     “Oh dear…”

            Azura speaks first, before anyone else can “We will have to stay away from major towns, who knows what measures each side will take now that we have refused to side with either.”

        “True.  We could use the mountains, perhaps?”  Corrin points out  “They’re secluded and have plenty of caves…”  Felicia crosses her arms

    “Well I for one don’t want to stay in a cave one more night!  We need a better place to hide, somewhere with beds.” Anna chimes in

            “Quite so!”

        Lilith looks to her companions with remorseful eyes  “Oh come on, caves aren’t _that_ bad!”

            “Yes they are.”

    “I only sleep in one if I reeeeeally have to.”

 

  Corrin cuts them off before they get into the swing of things.

    “Think the villagers will come back?  If not we could always use their houses for a day, I doubt they’d mind.”  Azura sighs, distracted

        “No Corrin. This is their home, we should not tarry here.”

    “I wish I could just go home!  The tower in the Northern Fortress is feeling really nice right about now...”

        “I... know of a place…”  Azura seems to force the words from her mouth “Somewhere where no one would find us…  It does not have beds but it will be completely safe until we find better accommodations…”

    “Azura that sounds wonderful!  How do we get there?”

 

 

   _The Bottomless Canyon…_   Moments from that fateful fight over the canyon flash across her mind’s eye—Gunter, the fall, Hans, the unbridled rage from within her blood and the Hoshidans…  Her first taste of real combat. “Ok”  She lets out the breath she was unaware of keeping “I trust you Azura, I’ll go.” None of her companions knew, they didn’t really question why their leader seemed to be so hesitant about going there—why she might never want to cross those blasted chasms ever again. 

    “Then let us make haste.”

 

  Corrin’s party made good time over the mountains separating Hoshido from their buffer zone.  By evening they were well within the stormy terrain of the Canyon, the atmosphere gathering and condensing into tactile shocks the closer they got to their destination.  By the end of the day they halted over the thundering crags of the Canyon, the boom of the dark clouds above replacing the beat of Corrin’s thundering heart.  “Can you now explain to us why we’re here?”  The wind whips her sapphire hair across her face and between her teeth, catching on her fangs and in her eyelashes.  The azure songstress turns to face her compatriots

    “I…  What I am about to ask of you will sound insane, I promise you it is not.”  She takes a long breath, everyone tenses and gathers closer to hear her. “There is… something else at work here, something pushing Hoshido and Nohr to fight.  I cannot say who or what is behind it but I can show you—if you follow me.” Corrin takes her hand, the unspoken sign of trust plain in her grip, as Azura takes in the others. 

 

  She steps back.  Corrin’s hand stretching further as Azura backs into the railing of the bridge.  The rain stained rope creaks against her touch, it will do.  She ducks underneath as she lets go of her draconic friend’s hand to grip the slick line holding the bridge to the pillar-islands.  Azura’s smile is wistful with glimmers of hope reflected in Corrin’s eyes as the woman who was there for her when she was at her lowest lets go, blown away from life down into the stygian deep. “AZURA!”  Cries lost in the wind with her tears.

 _Not her, not her too._ _We never should have come here!_  

 

  She had promised; her legs are leaping to save Azura before conscious thought can remind her that her friend is as good as dead.  Corrin’s already over the edge, doomed just as her story took off, plummeting down the whistling wind until her ears are utterly numb.  The voice of regret slips in and out of her eyes, nose, ears and mouth—hurting with the pain she feels inside her chest cavity.  The gleaming figure is far, far below her, falling past the jutting spikes and craggy spires clinging to the chasm’s walls.  She has to fall faster, catch her faster— _faster!_

  Her wings fold to carry her further down, to spiral closer to her goal and lift her dear friend from the darkness.  Larger, the form of the diving Azura comes closer into view, _is she smiling?_   Her hands welcome Corrin into her grasp asking to be saved, like in her dreams.  Too late, her wings unfurl but the darkness is all around them, swallowing them whole, never to be seen again.

 

 

  Grass shifts around her, the breeze is wonderful.  _This is what it must feel like to be dead_ , she thinks, _peace and calm and warmth caressing my skin for all eternity._   It’s dark but that’s ok, her last memories are of the dark— _maybe I’ll be comforted by them forever now._   Thinking about opening her eyes causes them to open and she realizes that the afterlife is beautiful.  Incomprehensible floating isles and cyclopean masonry dot her vision as the low-hanging, deep blue sky ripples and shimmers.  An eerie ringing in her ears echoes with long locked memories as she rises to better view her final resting place.  To call her surroundings “serene” would lack the oddly sinister quality seeing the landscape evokes for her, shivers crawl up her spine as a precipice comes into view.  Biting back this sense of trepidation she turns to follow what appears to be a dirt path.

  The land slopes up and up until it curves at a right angle to stretch like a mountain into the sky, the island’s peaks jutting out of its underbelly.  It, somehow, strikes a chord in the young woman and her brain feels that she should be screaming, mind reeling at the impossible landscape before her, but somehow all she feels is that sense of calm again; everything feels like it belongs right where it floats.  A glint of brilliant light catches her attention in the distance—blinding white reflecting the reflection of the sun.  She covers her eyes from the glare briefly as she moves faster towards it.  Shimmering shapes takes form the closer Corrin gets to the figure standing in the field, colors distinguishing themselves from each other and detail growing clearer and clearer.  It’s a woman—familiar in her white dress and azure hair—and Corrin shouts out her name “Azura!”

  Azura turns and smiles at Corrin, as mystical and warm as ever.  Her hand beckons the princess forward and Corrin obliges, stopping only when she is side by side with her friend.  “Where are we?”  Her voice is filled with the sense of wonderment she held since arriving. 

    “I will say more when the rest arrive.  For now we-”

 

  The sky ripples like a stone striking a pond and a droplet plummets towards the ground nearby.  It moves too fast for Corrin to get a good look but what she makes out is promising—black and white with hints of red shimmering within the filmy shell.  As if sensing something, the droplet corrects its course, growing ever larger as it races towards the two women.  Panic hits Corrin as her brain screams that it will hit them and end their short existence but Azura stands firm, she tries to follow her friend’s example.  It careens just over her head to land with a sickening plop and splashes water all down Corrin and Azura’s backs.

  The water maiden strides to the prone figures in the grass as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, like this falling star of a droplet didn’t just almost kill them.  She helps the first one up, a woman in black and white ruffles. 

_Felicia! That must mean…_

  Corrin’s legs spur her to Azura’s side as Lilith dusts herself of, Anna groans and clutches her side  “I hate flying…”  Relief washes over the Dragon Princess’s face. 

    “By the Gods, you’re all ok!”  She bends down to help the moaning swashbuckler and finds her surprisingly heavy for her size.  Azura wastes no time in getting straight to the point.

        “Welcome to the Kingdom of Valla.  Where we stand now is the land responsible for the wars and destruction above.”  Corrin raises her hand

    “Why couldn’t you just tell us before?  Better yet, why doesn’t anyone else know this place is responsible?!”

        “Because”  Azura shakes her head and sighs  “The ruler of this land, King Anankos, has placed a geas over this land.  Any who speak its name in the lands above is cursed to fade away from existence then and there, it is why...  Come, we must seek shelter on the off chance he has detected us.”  The hand clasping Corrin’s brooks no discussion and the crew follow Azura’s lead as she heads for the hills.

 

  Once again, they find themselves in a cave but one far larger than the last one.  Tunnels snake off to the North and West casting long, serpentine shadows across the cave mouth.  The dark corridors echo with the drip-drop of liquid on the rough-hewn floor.  Corrin and Felicia marvel at the impossibility of all this—the cave that should be vertical instead being completely horizontal their most immediate concern—as they make their way into the atrium of the complex.  Azura coughs  “We should be safe here, now, what questions does everyone have?”

    “Why is Valla behind all of the fighting above?  What does King Anankos have against us that he would manipulate nations into destroying themselves?”  Azura turns to Corrin to meet her friend's confused eyes.

        “Why?  I…  To be honest, I do not know exactly why. Even my mother…”  Tears well up in her eyes “Even my mother did not know exactly _why_ Anankos plots such ruination. All she…  All she told me was that he had gone mad somehow, killed the ruling family and… well, you see what has become of this place.” 

            “Your mother, Lady Azura?”  Felicia, too, wears the same look as her master “But surely your mother isn’t from here, she’s from Nohr, right?  I-I mean, unless I missed something, of course…”  The azure songstress shakes her head

        “No, my mother was Queen Arete of Valla.  After Anankos killed my father and took the throne for himself my mother took me and fled to the surface.  She married King Garon some years after…”

 

  “Wait, WHAT?!”  Corrin’s exclamation rings through the cave, rebounding off wall after wall to overlap into pure noise.  By sheer luck the women hear the growl down one of the passages, disturbing and spine-chilling.  Something sinister lurked within their hiding place.  Everyone’s hands scramble for their weapons in the dim grey dark, no one thinks to make any light in their sudden panic.  The noise grows closer, closer as Corrin’s blade illuminates its surroundings with its tiny glow—not quite enough to see by, however.  The dragon princess feels it in her soles—the soft pounding of heavy footsteps on stone as its owner nears—and they tell her where to move, where to strike.  Her sword illuminates a ghastly figure, shimmering and ethereal like it was born from some nightmare, as it impacts on the creature’s shoulder.  It barely flinches.

  “We need to move!”  Corrin yells as the shadowy creature lunges for her with its clawed hands, her dodge is so close it’s almost fatal.  Her weave takes her out and away, leaving her flat-footed companions to take a stab at it.  Felicia is the first to react, her skills honed by aptitude and years of training, plunging a dagger straight into the creature’s eye, not a sound leaves its spectral lips.  The abomination doesn’t even slow down as it switches targets to the alarmed maid.  The arrow that pins it to the floor snaps, its tip broken by the collision with the hard stone, and the creature writhes as Anna whoops for joy.  They hear more, there are always more, and Lilith—clever Lilith—succeeds in sparking a light for all to see by; they can proceed with impunity.

  It feels as if the whole world is pressing down on their heads.  The walls curve and bend giving the illusion of a smaller space than is actually there, like the land itself was trying to trap them in its earthy tomb.  The cloying dark bites at them from outside the comforting glow of firelight, flickering and insignificant in the face of such blackness.  Shimmers in the air fling themselves at the scared party, their training or experience the only thing keeping all of them alive.  It’s as if the passageways were crammed full of these alarmingly solid mirages as each step sees another ethereal figure charge their front line. Corrin is incredibly thankful that the Yato is a sword, anything longer and she would be unable to fight in such cramped conditions.  As it is, she has to grip the blade with both hands—one on the hilt and the other halfway down the blade—blocking and thrusting against her enemies’ precise, if stiff, slices.

  Room after room, corridor after corridor, the maze seems endless with its army of faceless, blurry monstrosities wearing down stamina and sanity.  All Corrin wants to do is blow the whole tunnel away in a stream of fire from her mouth but if she were to transform here, she wouldn’t fit, she’s bigger than three halls stacked atop each other.  It starts to get to Corrin, the oppressive atmosphere and her inability to cleanse it in fire, and her breath begins to quicken as the heat of her unreleased flame makes her body sweat.  The part of her mind that remembers she’s human tries to calm the rest of her down, to focus on the task ahead of them and not give in to such fear—that part of her is losing the battle faster than she would like.  It’s all becoming too much, the heat makes her want to rip off her skin-like armor more than anything in the world, her mind wails that her friends need her.  “Lady Corrin!”

 _That voice!_   It pulls at her heartstrings and cuts through her haze like a cavalry charge. “Gunter!”  Dark shadows lighten and coalesce into distinct form—an armored figure all in black and silver with cold iron in hand.  The aged knight hidden behind his helm but somehow Corrin knows his smile shone from ear to ear—it was the same face she wore.

    “Gunter!  By the Gods you’re _alive_?!  But I saw you…”  Gunter laughs

        “Looks can be deceiving, at least when it comes to wherever we are.  After that bastard Hans killed my beloved Sarah I lost consciousness.  When I woke, I landed in this… unique land but I swear to you I am no spectre!  My sword arm is ever yours, My Lady, and I suspect you require it now.”  As he finishes his practiced muscles twist and slice, another solid phantasm cut in twain.

 

  “Gunter…”  Nearly every muscle in her body yearns to hug the stoic yet fatherly knight, she makes it two steps before her brain manages to reign the body in.  Real life intrudes on what, to Corrin, is a dream rising from the ashes of her worst nightmares as more enemies continue to throw themselves at the party’s less defended rear. 

 _Please, Gods, let Felicia be enough to hold them until the next room…_  

 

  With Gunter to lead them the party makes swift, if desperate, progress into the next chamber.  Corrin feels like they are moving in circles, every chamber appears the same outside her faint light and the strange uniformity of what she can see doesn’t help.

    “Everyone!  This way!” It is Lilith, arm outstretched, that somehow becomes their guide.

        “Lilith?  I did not see you there girl!  I thought you were still at the Fortress.”  Lilith’s golden eyes shine in the ethereal glow, somehow brighter than the light itself.

    “Well, frankly it’s a long story.  I’ll fill you in once we get out of this damnable cave.”

 

  The waves of deadly wraiths is unending, Corrin didn’t know if they were being assaulted by hundreds of them or if a dozen or so just kept returning to unlife over and over again.  Where Lilith takes them culminates in another cavern chamber but one unlike any other.  For one, it’s lit by the outside world; another difference is the hulking brute guarding the exit.  To Corrin’s mind it looks like Hans, but since the whole figure was barely visible and its features even less so, it was hard to tell.  Whomever—or _what_ ever—the beast is its first move is to charge the party’s frontline, a fatal mistake. 

  The veteran of nearly a hundred battles and as many skirmishes, Gunter is a force to be reckoned with even in his twilight years.  The brute’s axe flies above, intending to cleave its target in half, but Gunter knows exactly where to hit him.  He sidesteps and thrusts with pinpoint accuracy straight into its head before rending flesh from bone as the blade travels out of the creature’s skull.  All the brute makes is a guttural gurgle as whatever force animating it leaves.  His movement is quick, precise and efficient—all the things he instilled in the much younger Corrin over their years together.  As if in spite, his arc finishes by cleaving through the shimmering hands of the bulky humanoid shape—even if it’s dead, Gunter still makes sure the brute will cause no further trouble.

    “Let’s get out of these caves!”

 

  Fresh, mountain air greets their lungs as the six of them scurry out of the labyrinth's mouth.  With nothing to seal the dreaded caves all the party can do is run as far as they can away from the moaning and groaning coming from inside.  The sounds do not get louder, they made it out alive.  Corrin wraps her tired arms around Gunter’s chest.

    “Gunter!  I’m so happy to see you!  After… after Hans.”  Tears streak down her cheeks “I thought I would never see you again.”

        “I thought so too.  When I realized I hadn’t died my every thought was in service of trying to find you.  To think that Fate brought us together again…  It makes my old heart glow.”

    “Why?  Why did he go and do something like that to you?!”  Gunter pats the princess’s head affectionately

        “Oh my dear…  Not everyone is as trusting or as honest as you.  I doubt that treacherous snake would have even needed a reason to have me killed, but I think there was one regardless.  King Garon…  Well, I’m a little reluctant to admit this…”  He seems to be choosing his words carefully before giving up all together “The man despises me.”

 

Corrin and Felicia are shocked  “But Why?!”  The old man chuckles, sad and forlorn rather than with any mirth.

    “When I was younger, just after Corrin came to us in fact, King Garon granted me an audience.  He said that for my numerous victories in battle he would reward me… with the blood of Dragons.  Accepting would mean absolute service—absolute trust—and the highest position in the land.  However, I refused.  I would have been forced to leave my homeland, my wife, my child, and I couldn’t bear that.  After so many years of war all I wished for then was a quiet life of a farmer, something he never understood.  Our argument… was long and one that eventually proved fatal.  He-”  Tears well in his eyes,  “His resentment, his rage towards me, he bears them even to this day.  Seeing me again, hearing me go against his wishes once more, must have kindled it.”  Now Felicia and Lilith, too, join Corrin in hugging the broad, broken man as his body shudders in remembered tears.

 

  “Oh Gunter”  Corrin sobs sympathetically, “I didn’t know…”  The scene is interrupted, however, by a smooth, watery voice from behind them.

    “Leave now…  You should not be here.”

 

  Everyone turns towards the voice, only to be greeted by more shimmering figures.  “What the-who are you?”  Corrin challenges, her hand instinctively going to her sword.  The speaker, foremost of what Corrin thinks to be three beings, stretches out a transient hand towards the group.  What little glimpses of form Corrin can see seem to give the impression of a quite fancy gown, form fitting with touches of finery right out of a very refined theatrical troupe.  It is then Corrin realizes they are, in fact, blockaded—shapes materializing out of thin air or solid rock to block all escape and discourage struggle.

    “I am a mage... of Valla…  You were warned.  Soldiers of Valla, eliminate them.”

        “Hate to say it, Lady Blueblood, but I don’t think we’ll be busting out of this one…  It was nice while it lasted.”  Anna notches an arrow in preparation for a last stand, she sees the mass too.

 

  Azura moves to clutch her pendant tight between her fingers, her mouth taking in the air to sing.  Felicia draws more knives from her uniform and eyes the crowd in front of her “We’ll protect you Lady Corrin.”  Her voice is solid, resigned in the knowledge that she will die doing her duty.  Gunter readies his blade and moves to shield Corrin from the mage, she places her back to his.  Lilith is wide-eyed, something not unlike panic filling her golden orbs, her lower lip trembling as her gaze flits back and forth between the clumps of Vallite soldiers.  The mobs of shapeshifting wraiths begin their descent towards the doomed party.

  Anna’s first shot flies true, striking an approaching spectre in the mouth and felling it.  Felicia takes aim and nails another in the eye then another in the temple but still they come like the marching of ages.  The soldiers are almost in striking distance, soon everyone will be dead on this fantastical landscape.  Azura sings. Her first note is loud and clear like a rolling river, her second sets the key as her third launches into the melody.  The Vallite mage reaches out a hand in protest  “NO!” But it’s too late.

_"You are the ocean’s grey waves, destined to seek.  Life beyond the shore just out of reach...”_

 

  Water emanates from Azura, pushing back the encroaching Vallites but it’s not enough.  The power of her voice and of the song cuts down several but the strain on Azura is evident, she will not last long like this; her voice cracks and falters.  Lilith moves, leaps in front of the mob blocking their path to freedom and pulls in air.  She breathes out fire.  Tendrils of chromatic flame sweep through the ranks of the Vallite soldiers disintegrating them in an instant, the way out is open.  “Come on!”  Lilith shouts as she runs even faster to escape their foes.

    “YOU?!?”

 

  The mage, for the first time, seems to have been caught off-balance—clearly, she did not expect such a display of eldritch fire from her prey.  In fact, none of Corrin’s party move either, everyone just as befuddled as the mage is.  Gunter is the first to recover “Let us move now, Lady Corrin!”  His feet clanking against the rough dirt path as he charges after the fleeing Lilith. His words snap Corrin out of her daze

    “Gunter’s right, we need to move. Come on!”

 

  She hoists Azura over her shoulder and books it away from the trap her best friend had so easily disabled.  The other two spring into action alongside her, running for their lives up the winding path.  There’s no time to think, to reflect on what just happened, the only thought in all of their minds is “run.”  They reach the end of the road, a small mountain pool where the ground curves in on itself creating a dizzying—and impossible—dead end.

    “No. No, no no no…”  Corrin’s eyes grow to become saucers “Oh Gods, please no…”

        “Corrin…”  Azura’s tired voice manages to be heard by everyone.  “The lake. It is a portal…  I need to-”

    “Azura no!  You’re already exhausted from that song, you need rest.”  The Vallite princess laughs a tired laugh

        “It matters not.  I have enough strength and the portal is a simple matter.  Now, put me down.”

 

  Corrin, reluctantly, lets Azura off of her shoulder and onto the rough ground.  The other princess strides to the pool and hums one simple note, her pendant gleaming as it hovers away from her chest.  Just like the first time she met Azura, the water ripples and stills, becoming a mirror to an alien sky.  Azura glides onto the glassy pool, her feet barely touching the water.  “Come.”  Her voice is sore but still it carries great power, it sings of trust right into each of their souls—they hear the groan of Vallite soldiers from the path downwards.  They all move as Azura lets herself fall into the mirror’s embrace, parting the water like a curtain as she becomes engulfed by it.  Gunter is the last to go, forcing Corrin to enter the portal before him, and as he dives in the Vallite forces arrive—their quarry now lost to the waves.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of imagine her and Corrin's breath attack like the Covenant's glassing lasers from Halo, just all melting silver and filled with rainbows instead.
> 
>  
> 
> Next Chapter: "The princess, knowing that her world was not what it seemed, has fled the land of Valla but to where? Upon her return to the world above the looking-glass she will have to come to grips with the ramifications of that fateful battle all those days ago, ramifications she is not ready for in the slightest. When family turns upon family, how can someone trust the ones who started this continent spanning family feud?"

**Author's Note:**

> Like my current work? You can contact me (besides on here) on my Tumblr, DizzIzzi; my Twitter, @Izzidizz and my Gmail, dizzizzi42@gmail.com  
> It may take me a bit to answer because I am not terribly at home with social media, but I will get to it.


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